


To be in your arms again

by sdwolfpup



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon-typical language, Character Death Fix, F/M, Happy Ending, Jaime Lannister Lives, Minor Canonical Character(s), POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, flashbacks to Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-01 22:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19186420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: Jaime Lannister is rescued from the rubble, but whether Brienne will ever forgive him is another question.**********For days, Jaime remembered only pain and Brienne. When he woke he would cry out and they fed him broth and medicine, and then he would sleep and he would dream of Brienne. Of fighting on the bridge, of walking through green fields, of blades wielded for each other, of her long legs wrapped around him. He hated to wake, not just because waking meant agony, but because it meant he wasn't with her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> MANY MANY thanks to Ro_Nordmann for this incredibly lovely fic banner!!
> 
>  
> 
> My fannish happy place is in making the canon work for me and now that the show is done and it belongs to us, I was compelled to make it right, while still working within the boundaries of what we were shown. Thanks to sisabet for reading this mid-way through when I worried I had completely screwed it up and assuring me I had not. Thanks to the twitter crew, both those who love Jaime & Brienne and those who don't but suffer me anyway, who all cheered me on as I worked through this. This obsession will pass some day but for now, thanks for making the ride so fun. <3
> 
> Title from James Arthur's "From the Grave," thus completing my trifecta of J/B fics with titles from that song. By the way, if you're looking for a soundtrack while reading, pretty much any James Arthur song will do.

Jaime woke to Tyrion's tears. 

They were as familiar a sound to him as a sword striking a man's body, and hurt as much. If he could have moved, he would have hugged his brother, fixed whatever was making Tyrion cry. But how, Jaime wondered, could he help Tyrion? He couldn't even help himself. 

He couldn't even die right. 

Jaime's whole body ached; he couldn't get enough air and he tasted blood on his tongue, but he could feel his heart pounding, beating on and on and on like it didn't realize it should have been crushed beneath tonnes of falling rock. He'd been holding Cersei, comforting her in their last moments, dust and bricks falling around and over them before they'd been pushed to the ground by the weight of it. After that had been dreamless black and now there was light drumming against his eyes and his heart drumming inside his chest and pain, like he was made of it from skin to soul. 

Pain and bad decisions were all he had ever been made of, were all he would ever carry with him and why couldn't he just _die_ and spare the world one less sick and sorry knight? 

Noises now that weren't just Tyrion, but another man, hard-edged and sour. A voice he didn't recognize, unless he did. It hurt even to think, to try to remember he had been a man once and not a body broken from head to toe. “Don't cry yet, you ponce,” the man said. “He's still alive.” 

There was a gasp, like it was Tyrion who couldn't breathe and “what are you doing here?” Then the sound of rocks scraping against each other and the other man again - “here, help me lift it” - and suddenly Jaime could feel his torso expand and air that tasted like fire and fury burned through him.

He heard a third voice, dry, rasping, terrified, “leave me” it said. His throat hurt, a new pain on top of all the others. “Leave me to die” the voice said again. Someone touched his face and as the wan light on his eyes dimmed and went black, he realized the voice was his.

**********

Jaime dreamt of water so blue it made his heart hurt, splashing and roiling angrily around him. He tasted it on his lips and it was sweet, but where it hit his body it was agony. He could drown in it and end it all, but the blue wasn't just water they were eyes. He could drown in those, too. Would that he had instead of ending in darkness and dirt. He heard his name, he felt the world shifting beneath him, he felt his bones grinding against each other. Someone screamed. He let the water wrap him up and pull him back to oblivion.

**********

“You killed him.”

“If a whole fucking keep falling on his head didn't kill him, moving him sure as shit won't do it. Look, he's still breathing.”

Jaime thought about opening his eyes, but when even a flutter felt like sandpaper on his eyeballs, he kept them closed and tried to breathe without moving. He heard water splashing, heard the creak of wood. 

“He's a heavy son of a bitch. Lucky, too.” 

“I suppose the gods protected him.” 

“That giant arch falling in just the right way protected him, the gods didn't have anything to do with it.” 

“Why didn't Cersei survive, then?”

If Jaime could have moved he would have moved closer to hear every word of the answer. He was as deserving of death as his twin had been. Why should he have lived? 

“Dumb luck.” 

Jaime felt his fingers twitch with the urge to shake whoever it was. He heard Tyrion's voice low near his ear. “If you can hear me, don't listen to Bronn. You were saved for a reason,” his brother murmured. Jaime felt cold fingers on his forehead, a gentle caress. “Thank the gods.” 

_Fuck the gods_ , Jaime thought. _I broke the heart of a knight and the body of my own sister and still I live. This isn't mercy, this is cruelty._

But Tyrion's hand was still gentle on Jaime's face, caressing his cheek like Jaime was a child. There was mercy in the softness of it, the promise that Tyrion would take care of him. 

“I must go to the Queen. You'll take him to Casterly Rock?”

“I'll do no such thing. If that crazy bitch finds out he's still alive, which she will if he returns to his ancestral home, she'll definitely murder him. He won't last long without help though. We'll go to Rosby.”

“Rosby? Do they even have a maester?”

“No, but they'll have milk of the poppy, which I don't. Best get going before she burns you up, too.”

“And then what?”

“We'll go to Highgarden, if you keep your promises.” 

“I will. Highgarden is a long way away, are you sure?” 

“So's Casterly Rock. I'll get him there safely. I've got people along the Roseroad that will be happy to help the new Lord of Highgarden and his one-handed cousin.” 

Jaime heard someone moving around, then Tyrion further away. “I'll check on him as soon as I can. And Bronn – thank you.” 

“I'm not doing it for you, or for him. I'm doing it for Highgarden.” 

There was a long, loud scrape that seemed to shake Jaime's broken bones, and he moaned as it rolled through him. 

“Ah so you're awake then? You're not gonna like this trip much, I'm afraid, but you'll thank me for it some day.” 

The world rocked back and forth, slowly at first, and then in faster, undulating waves, rolling his broken body until Jaime was sure he was dying. A second chance to die and this time he would do it as he should have; this time he would think only of Brienne.

**********

Every time a raven flew into Winterfell, Brienne felt dread like a hard stone in her stomach. They came so quickly these days, messages of movements and war, she walked around with a constant ache in her stomach to match the one in her heart. There was a raven to announce the Kingslayer had been captured, one to announce the destruction of King's Landing, one to announce the imprisonment of Tyrion Lannister for treason. That one had hurt the most when Sansa had pressed her lips into a thin line and shoved the paper at Brienne to read. She'd scanned it quickly, unable to breathe.

 _Tyrion Lannister has been imprisoned for treason against the crown, including violent abdication of the role of Hand in a time of war and for freeing his brother, Jaime Lannister (later killed in the destruction of the Keep), from the Queen's captivity._

Brienne read it over, and then again and once again, as though the words might change between the first time and the last. She had expected this news, or worse, for days, but now that it was here, the words written in relentless black ink, it was too much to believe. The paper trembled only a little in her hand as she handed it back to Sansa, but she could not meet her lady's bright blue eyes. 

“I'm sorry, Brienne,” Sansa said quietly. 

Brienne swallowed hard, the knot in her throat like a shard of glass. She wanted to rail at Jaime, to curse his name and say he deserved it, but even now - _a fool, I am a fool_ \- she didn't believe it. Instead she said nothing, nodding once, a sharp cut of her head to end the conversation. “What will you do now?”

She felt Sansa watching her still, was grateful when she answered only the question Brienne had voiced. “We will wait. Jon is there, he will send word if he needs us.”

“As you say, my lady.” 

“Do you think I should do otherwise, ser? With our depleted force and work remaining to be done on Winterfell?”

Brienne twitched, glancing briefly at Sansa's coolly composed face. But there was worry lurking there, too, hidden well but not entirely. There had been other ravens in the last day, not just from the Queen's official messengers, but from a few cautious allies. Letters that hinted that the Queen had committed a terrible atrocity at King's Landing, one that did not have to occur. Carefully worded letters that seemed harmless on the surface but when read just the right way, suggested the North must remain ready to act, to defend.

“I think, my lady,” Brienne started, choosing her own words as carefully as those written for the ravens, “that Jon Snow is a good man, as your father was a good man.” 

Sansa's eyes widened briefly, a flash of memory, of terror, and then she regained herself. “Ser Brienne,” she said quietly, “please begin an inventory of our remaining army and our weapons. Do it quietly, engaging no one.”

“What about Ser Podrick? I could use his help, it will make it go faster.” 

“Only him. And not a word from either of you about it.”

“I swear it.” Brienne straightened and inclined her head. “Is there anything else, my lady?”

Sansa studied her for a long, silent moment. “Begin tomorrow.” When Brienne moved to speak, Sansa held up one slender hand. “You are relieved of your duties for today.” 

“I do not wish to be relieved of my duties,” Brienne said tightly. “They...comfort me.” 

There were times when Sansa looked so much like Catelyn in spirit that it made Brienne's breath catch. She felt it was both of them speaking to her now. “Duty makes for poor comfort, ser, when it is the cut of grief from which you are healing. Take the day, just the day, so that it does not fester and wound you later.” 

How could Brienne explain that if she gave in to this grief, it would take more than a day to go through it? But of course Sansa knew that; Sansa had lost her father and mother and brothers, her innocent dreams, she'd lost almost everything else when she'd been Ramsay's captive wife. Sansa knew more than most how some grief took a lifetime, that one would never be over some losses. And because Sansa knew those things as intimately as any, Brienne acquiesced. 

“The day,” she agreed quietly. “And no more.”

**********

Brienne spent most of the afternoon pacing the grounds of Winterfell. She stopped in the godswood, but the silence and stillness there was too great and she quickly moved on. She watched Pod and the others train for awhile and then she lingered in the kitchens and found herself counting supplies under her breath. Ashamed to break her promise to Sansa even a little, Brienne hurried away again. Every place she went, though, she ran into a memory she would rather forget, of some happy time they had spent together in those weeks between the Battle of Winterfell and the night Jaime had left. Here were the stables, where one day Jaime had nuzzled her as horses do, his nose pressed into the line between her neck and her chin and she could feel his smile on her skin. Here the covered walkway where he took her hand as they walked and for the first time she did not drop it when someone else passed by them. There the dark recess where he'd tugged her after a sparring session and pressed hard against her and she thought he'd devour her there. All those moments, all those days, one after the next, until Brienne believed he had let his past go, that he had actually stayed for her. They talked around Cersei, never of her, and they were both happy. Or so she had believed.

She had been so naïve. 

Eventually Brienne ended up in her room, a place she had spent as little time as possible since Jaime's departure. Most days she waited to return until she was so tired she could barely remove her armor and make it to the bed for sleep, and in the mornings she woke and left quickly. Now she was here as evening settled, awake and aware, the fire having grown dim in her absence, and she felt him in every shadowed corner. 

He had stayed in her room the first night and never left, though they hadn't talked it through. That first morning she'd woken to find him watching her, and he'd smiled so that his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“You're a layabout,” he'd said. “The sun has been up for hours.”

Brienne had turned to look out the window, saw the sun was barely over the horizon, and then turned back and shoved his chest as he laughed.

There had been much laughter over their weeks together. And if sometimes she found him staring intently into the fire, if she occasionally woke first and found him frowning in his sleep, the rest of the time he was doting and gentle with her. Brienne smiled a little into the fire now. Others would not think their bickering gentle, she supposed, but if others could not, she could see the softness in his eyes when he called her wench or when he teased her about always having to have a foot sticking out from under the blankets. He never teased her during lovemaking, though, not once. Then Jaime would gaze at and touch her avidly and he called her beautiful every time. Some nights they had been rough and some nights they had been tender, but she had always felt safe and adored. 

Shaking her head a little to clear the memories, Brienne removed her cloak and armor slowly, brushed her fingers over Oathkeeper's hilt after she replaced it back in its stand. She'd cried all the night after he'd gone; huge, heaving sobs that had left her aching and emptied. Then she'd washed her face, risen with the sun, and gone back to the work of serving Lady Sansa. Somehow Brienne had found the strength to say, “Jaime Lannister has departed for King's Landing” and Sansa had nodded, her shrewd eyes taking Brienne in before responding, “I will let Jon know” and that had been it. Brienne did not inquire what Sansa would ask Jon to do with Jaime if they found him and Sansa did not ask why Jaime left and they continued on in silent agreement to not speak of it again. And Brienne was, if not happy, content enough as long as she didn't think of Jaime, as long as she ignored the memories that lurked around every turn. 

Except now Sansa was asking her to confront those memories with a bravery she in no way felt. There was an uncertain knock at her door now and Brienne startled, wondering if she'd somehow willed it into being to save her from the task. 

“Come in,” she said, and was somehow unsurprised when Podrick opened it. 

“I hope I'm not bothering you, my lady.” 

“Pod,” she sighed, ushering him to a chair. “You can call me Brienne. We are both knights.” 

“It still feels strange.” 

“It won't feel less strange until you start doing it.” She noticed the bottle and two cups he held and she remembered Jaime at her door, the wary hope in his eyes as he'd said “you didn't drink.” “What is that for?” she asked Pod in the present. 

“Lady Sansa told me about Ser Jaime.” 

“Ah.” 

“I know you're not much for drinking, my lady- Brienne,” he amended hastily, “but it seems like the occasion for it.” 

Brienne had to agree on that. She took one of the cups and held it out to be filled. When Pod had served them both, they silently toasted each other and drank. She stared down into her cup after, until Pod shifted and cleared his throat. 

“He was happy here with you,” Pod said suddenly. Brienne jerked her head up, found Pod watching her with soft, sad eyes. “A couple weeks into it, we were sitting together, uh,” he blushed and looked nervous, “drinking.”

“Drinking's not a crime, Pod.” 

“It was the middle of the afternoon and we missed training.” 

Brienne sighed. She remembered that day. When she'd found Jaime afterward, charming and tipsy in their room, he'd only said he'd spent some quality time with the Northmen, but apparently he'd been protecting Pod. 

“Sorry, ser,” Pod mumbled now, and Brienne smiled wanly. 

“Don't let it happen again.” 

He nodded and pushed on. “We were talking, early on after only one or two cups. Ser Jaime was staring into the fire, like he was looking for something.” Brienne had seen that look on Jaime herself. “I asked him if he was all right. He nodded a little and looked away from it still unsettled and then we heard your voice coming through the windows. I don't even remember what you were saying, just training commands same as any day. But he turned his face towards the sound of you and smiled, my lady. He smiled so wide as I'd never seen before, the second he heard your voice. And I remember thinking there was true happiness, that light in his face. I remember feeling jealous he'd found someone he loved that much, that loved him in return.” Pod was blushing again, but he didn't look away. “I've never seen anybody look like that before, ser. Not just from the sound of someone else's voice. I know he left,” he continued in a rush, “and I know he likely died with his sister. But he loved you, and he was happy, and I thought you should know that.” 

Brienne's fingers were tight around her cup, her body was tight holding back tears. She licked her lips, swallowed hard, and still couldn't chance opening her mouth for fear of letting out the wail that beat behind her teeth. But when Pod reached over and touched her shoulder kindly, she could hold it in no longer, and she leaned into her former squire, her friend, and she cried, loud and long, as Pod hummed quietly into her hair.


	2. Chapter 2

For days, Jaime remembered only pain and Brienne. When he woke he would cry out and they fed him broth and medicine, and then he would sleep and he would dream of Brienne. Of fighting on the bridge, of walking through green fields, of blades wielded for each other, of her long legs wrapped around him. He hated to wake, not just because waking meant agony, but because it meant he wasn't with her. 

One day he woke and didn't say anything. He hurt, but it wasn't unbearable pain, so he opened his eyes into slits and looked around. He was in a simple room, lying on a simple bed. He felt like he was freshly born, the world a bright and confusing place. There was movement and Bronn passed into and out of his view. Jaime licked his lips and tried to say the man's name, but he could barely make a whisper. 

It was enough, because Bronn came back, kneeled down and pushed his face close to Jaime's. “Can you hear me, Lannister?”

Jaime licked his lips again, whispered, “yes.” 

“He lives.” Bronn smiled grimly. “Barely, but you do.” 

“W-where?”

“We're in Rosby, giving you a chance to decide if you want to die or not. Looks like you picked life you stubborn fuck. Here,” he pressed a cup to Jaime's lips and cool water spilled over them, sliding down his cheeks and chin and some into his mouth. “Annabelle is better at this than I am but she's gone to market. Do you want to sit up?” Jaime considered it, shook his head no a tiny bit and Bronn shrugged. “Suit yourself. You remember anything?”

He remembered firelight and pale skin, he remembered tears in the moonlight, he remembered seeing Cersei again and realizing he loved her still, but only as a brother did. After that – after relief he could be there to soothe his sister, regret he had not told Brienne all he should have – he remembered only dust and pain.

“Rocks,” he said to Bronn. 

“That was the Red Keep falling on you. Should have stayed on the top level, it was safer.”

“Escape,” Jaime tried to explain. “Boat.” 

“Who do you think was on that boat? Almost got my own head knocked off.”

Jaime's brows pulled together. “Why?”

“You and your cursed brother are the only two people who know about our agreement. I couldn't very well leave him to wander off into battle unprotected, could I? Didn't realize you'd be an idiot, too, but I made myself known to Tyrion after he left your tent. He volunteered me to be Davos' rescue man. Promised he would stay back from the fight himself this time, and if I could get you and Cersei to safety together, she wouldn't have me murdered in my sleep.” Jaime imagined that, doubted somehow it would be true. Cersei held a grudge better than anyone he knew. If she had won the war, as had looked possible when he left Winterfell, and he had been at Brienne's side instead, they would both have wished for quick deaths by dragon fire. 

“Cersei would still murder me without another thought, of course,” Bronn said, echoing Jaime's thoughts. “But rescuing you two was good for me either way. If Daenerys were really going to win and I got you two out, I have Highgarden and the Lannisters in my debt, and you know what they say about the Lannisters. And if Cersei won, I could have shot you and proven my loyalty to her and gotten her reward.” 

Jaime had enough strength to roll his eyes. “Nice friend.” 

Bronn laughed. “We're not friends, Lannister, I don't know when you're going to get that through your thick skull. Besides,” he patted Jaime on the chest as he stood and Jaime winced as pain radiated out from the contact. “I'd kill my best friend for Highgarden. See if you can get some more rest now without the medicine, we're getting low.” 

“Wait,” Jaime gasped, suddenly desperate. Bronn looked down at him. “Brienne?”

“What of her?”

“Alive?”

“How should I know? Was she with Snow's army?”

“No. Winterfell.”

“No one came from Winterfell after Snow left. Except you, I suppose. She's still there as far as I know, with Sansa Stark.” Jaime felt a rush of warm relief flow through him. She had stayed, as he had hoped she would. If she had died in the south because of him, he could not have borne it. He was responsible for too many awful acts already; his scales could not hold something that grievous. “Tyrion's plan was to tell everyone you died with your sister, though I don't know how that will hold up when Cersei is there but your body is gone. You left the hand and a lot of blood behind, but once people get down there, who knows. Until then, everybody, including your lady knight, thinks you're dead.” 

Jaime's heart clenched, hard, and he shut his eyes. He should have died. It would have been easier than having to lie here with only his thoughts and the weight of all the hurt he'd caused Brienne, with the slow-creeping grief of knowing his twin was gone. He had never known a world without her in it, a world where he didn't map his actions to her sad and twisted heart. Even when he was with Brienne in Winterfell he couldn't stop hearing Cersei's ghost mocking him, reminding him of their unborn child, wondering why he deserved to be happy when she was alone. “Tyrion?” 

“He's supposed to contact us soon. There's rumors something happened after the battle, but I haven't been able to get anything specific. Annabelle should have news when she gets back from market. You hungry?”

“No.” 

“Then shut up and get some more sleep. Nothing is poking out where it don't belong, but I imagine it's a bit of a pulp in your body, even if you are alive.” Jaime tentatively tried to move his arm, but sharp pain cracked like lightning through his shoulder and down through his chest. He gasped aloud and Bronn snorted. “You want the last of the medicine?”

“Yes.” Jaime's body hurt, his heart hurt, even his thoughts. He wanted to escape it all. 

Bronn shrugged and brought back a wooden spoon trembling with liquid. He carefully helped Jaime drink it all down, spilling only a drop this time. “Nighty-night,” the other man said as Jaime shut his eyes and waited hopefully to dream again of Brienne.

**********

For once Jaime got what he wanted and he dreamed of their first morning together in Winterfell. Jaime had expected Brienne to be nervous the first night, had been surprised when she'd been greedy and glorious, her hunger matching his own, and it was _his_ belly that filled with butterflies like a maid as she'd tenderly removed his golden hand. They knew each other's bodies well, but not how they fit together, and it had been as much exploration as a desired resolution. He lay awake long into the night afterward, fully realizing the enormity of what was behind the door he had just unlocked in his heart. The next morning when she'd woken and looked hesitantly at him, he'd made a joke to ease both of their uncertainty, and she'd laughed and the door had opened and all that he felt rushed in.

It was not that he fell in love with her in that moment, but that the love he had always run from caught up to him then and he surrendered to it. _Jaime Lannister, eternal captive_ , he thought. 

He'd leaned over and kissed her gently, watching her eyes get bigger and bluer as he did. It was only then that she had blushed and looked sweetly nervous and he silently vowed to find all the small things he could do to put that warm redness in her cheeks and that shy delight in her eyes. 

When he pulled away he saw the flush had spread down to her chest, disappearing under the blanket that covered her. He wanted to tug the blanket down and see how far the red had gone, to take her breast in his mouth and see how far he could drive her just with his tongue and teeth. 

“Ser Jaime,” she said breathily, her mouth slightly open. 

“Ser Brienne,” he said teasingly. “You can call me just Jaime now. We are both knights.” 

“Jaime,” she said softly, and again, “Jaime,” this time with a smile of sunshine and he thought _oh no, I am lost_. He tugged the blanket down then and discovered he could push them both to the edge and over with his lips on her breasts and his name on her tongue, her long fingers tangled in his hair.

**********

“Well, we're fucked.”

It was two days later and Jaime was awake and had enough pillows under him he was nearly sitting. Breathing too deeply still hurt, and moving his right arm was pure agony thanks to, as they'd discovered, his broken collarbone. But he could move his toes and his fingers, and though it appeared he had a nasty cut on his head and fractures in his lower legs and several of his ribs, he was in surprisingly good shape considering an entire keep had collapsed on top of him. Even the sword wounds he'd received during his fight with Euron had missed anything significant and Annabelle had stitched them up neatly. 

“Sleep with the wrong man's wife?” Jaime asked archly. He was re-reading the only book Annabelle owned and he was bored out of his mind and in no mood for Bronn. 

“Your brother's been imprisoned and the Queen is dead,” Bronn said, and Jaime whipped his head around, grunting as it sent pain rippling through his right side. 

“What? By who?”

“Daenerys locked up Tyrion, and Jon Snow killed her.”

Jaime blinked unsteadily, not entirely sure this wasn't all some sick dream. “Why?”

“Right after the battle your brother got a bad case of honor and pissed her off by abruptly retiring as her Hand, not to mention the small matter of setting you free. I don't know why Jon killed her, but Seaworth seems to think it was due to burning all of King's Landing's women and children for no bloody reason” 

“How are you just finding this out now? It's been over a week.”

“Aye, almost two. With the battle and all the murdered and fleeing civilians, it's been hard to get truth from the lies. For a day there I believed Tyrion was King and Daenerys was his Hand. But I finally heard from Davos. The situation is a mess. They're calling a council of all the major lords at the Dragonpit in a few weeks and they'll try Tyrion and Snow then. If the Unsullied or the Dothraki don't kill one or both of them first.” 

Jaime remembered how well trial had gone for Tyrion the last time. “We have to get him out of there,” Jaime said, sitting up and gasping through the pain. 

“You're going to rescue him with your broken body and one hand?”

Jaime grit his teeth. “That's why I said _we_.”

Bronn leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. “ _We_ will do no such thing. _We_ will sit here while I come up with a plan since we can't go to Highgarden any longer and keeping you anywhere is like sitting on wildfire.” He clicked his tongue, looked Jaime up and down. “You think your lady knight would take you back?”

“Brienne?” Jaime could barely say her name without remembering all of it, the confusing, complicated mix of anguish and joy that all of his memories of her brought. Would she be glad to see him? To find him alive and not dead in the arms of his sister? It had been over a month since he'd left her crying in the night, having said none of what he should have, driven only by the surety that he did not deserve her. He suddenly, desperately wanted a chance to tell her all those things, even if it didn't change her mind. Helping her not be hurt would be enough. But it was just as likely Sansa Stark would lock him up if he showed his face anywhere near the North, and never let him get close to Brienne. “I don't know,” was all he told Bronn. 

“You've got too many fucking enemies, Lannister. Dorne killed your daughter, the Mad Queen and her dragon killed your sister, and you killed your chances in the North. Dragonstone and the Iron Islands aren't likely to welcome a Lannister and Casterly Rock isn't safe for anyone. At this rate you'll have to go to Essos.” 

“I only need to hide for another week, until I've healed enough and can find a way to rescue Tyrion.” 

“A week? You stupid-” Bronn shook his head. “I won't help you with that.” 

“Then don't. But leave me here so I can heal and plan.” 

“You're too close to King's Landing here. Turns out Davos Seaworth is a sneaky son of a bitch and moved a burned-up body in your place, strapped the hand to it and everything, but people would have to be idiots to not wonder why you were burned and Cersei wasn't. Tyrion will swear up and down that you've died, but I don't know if anyone will believe him if it comes to that. I wouldn't. You Lannisters are aces at fucking up any close relationships. Besides, Rosby is poor, and anyone here could do with the coin and favor bringing Jaime Lannister in would give. The question now is who would give them the most.” 

Jaime had to admire how Bronn thought through every situation to its worst possible end. “Will the Starks be coming down, too?”

Bronn eyed him. “Aye. Lady Stark, for sure, representing the north.” 

And Brienne with her, Jaime was certain. “I have to stay near.” 

“You have to stay alive. If Tyrion makes it out of this, I still want Highgarden.”

“And if he doesn't, you'll use me to get it.” 

“You're a quick study,” Bronn said, smirking. 

“Glad to be good for something.”

Abruptly Bronn snapped his fingers. “Of course, Cape Wrath.”

“Seaworth's castle?”

“It's perfect. He's as much a part of your escape as any of us.”

“But he still walks free.”

“Aye. Which means we either have an ally or leverage. I'll pack our things, the sooner we get out of here the better.” Bronn shoved off of the table. “We'll have to take the dinghy back across Blackwater to the Kingswood and from there we'll walk around the edge to catch the Kingsroad. You haven't been on your feet in almost two weeks, you think you can do it?”

“I can.” Keeping his right arm close to his side, Jaime slowly shifted his feet over the edge of the bed, wincing when he pressed bare feet to the cool wood floor. On willpower alone he stood, pain shooting through his shins and torso. “See?” he said, breathing heavily, feeling dizzy and sweaty. 

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Bronn sighed, shaking his head and leaving the room. “Keep working on it, we'll go in a few days.”


	3. Chapter 3

The letter announcing Daenerys' death arrived the day after the news of Tyrion and Jaime. It was signed by Arya and as soon as Sansa finished reading it she looked up at Brienne and said, “we must leave for King's Landing” with not a word of debate or hint of uncertainty. When Brienne read the letter herself, she noted there was no explicit request for them to come, just news that Jon had killed the Queen and was now captive of the Unsullied leader, Grey Worm. But Brienne wasn't surprised that Sansa would hear what Arya was clearly asking: their brother in spirit if not in blood was in trouble and he needed them. 

“How many men do you wish to join us?” 

“Only a small guard. We need to be fast and there are many Stark bannermen already in the south.” 

Brienne inclined her head and spent the rest of the day getting Pod and a handful of their best remaining guards ready for the journey. She had a headache from the crying she had done most of last night, but she focused on the task at hand and by the time the sun had set they were ready for a morning departure. She hurried to Sansa's room and knocked gently on the door. 

“Come in.” 

When Brienne entered, she found Sansa already in her sleeping gown, sitting by the fire and staring at a letter. 

“This is the letter I sent to Robb when the Lannisters captured my father,” Sansa said without preamble. “Cersei forced me to write that he had committed treason. I hated her for that. I hated all the Lannisters for what they did to me and my family. I thought going to the royal court would be a dream come true.” She smiled bitterly. “Instead I awoke from the dream of my childhood to the nightmare of reality.” 

Sansa looked up at Brienne and gestured for her to sit in the other chair. Brienne did, awkwardly, shifting Oathkeeper to do it. 

“If it were up to me, I would never go south again. But we must go back for Jon,” Sansa said. “He is not safe with the Queen's men. Neither is Tyrion Lannister, but I don't know what to do about him.” 

“Do, my lady?”

“We could try to save him, too. He was kind to me, even when he had no need to be. And in the crypts he comforted me and risked his life to help the others. Or he could be a bargaining tool to set Jon free. We leave Tyrion uncontested and let Grey Worm and the others do what they will with him, as long as they give us Jon.” Sansa looked down at the letter again. “Would you stop me, ser, if I tried to sacrifice Tyrion for Jon?”

Brienne thought of Tyrion the day he'd left with the Queen's army, the way he and Jaime had hugged goodbye and Tyrion had turned to Brienne and said, “you've made my brother smile, so I owe you whatever you want the next time we meet.” Jaime had snorted and looked down at the ground, embarrassed. 

“My loyalty is to you, my lady,” Brienne said. “Not the Lannisters.”

Sansa nodded, as though she expected nothing less. “Are you doing all right?” she asked quietly. 

“Yes, my lady.” Sansa looked so gently at her, Brienne found herself adding, “I...mourned when he left. I expected then I would not see him again. Now it is certain.” Brienne clutched Oathkeeper's hilt for strength. 

Sansa reached out and placed her hand briefly on top of Brienne's. Her nails were neat and trimmed, her touch cool against Brienne's dirty skin. “There can be a strange peace in the certainty.” She leaned back again. “Are we ready to depart tomorrow?”

“At first light.” 

“Good. We'll move quickly. The longer Jon and Tyrion are in captivity the more precarious their situations will be. We received one more raven while you readied things. A council has been called to determine their fates, and the fate of the seven kingdoms themselves.” 

“How?”

“We'll see when we arrive. Get some rest tonight, Brienne. I expect we will have a hard road ahead of us.” 

Brienne stood, bowed slightly. “Good night, my lady.” 

“Good night, ser. I hope you have pleasant dreams.” 

Brienne smiled tightly, already knowing that was unlikely to happen.

**********

She dreamed that night of Jaime, as she had feared she would, but it was not of his lifeless body or even of the way his eyes had been so dark and hopeless the night he'd left her. Instead Brienne dreamed of him in sunlight, a few days after Tyrion and the rest had departed for King's Landing and the gray winter sky had parted for a few blessed hours. Jaime, who usually avoided Sansa at all costs, had hovered around the courtyard while Brienne and Sansa talked grain stores, until Sansa had smiled at Brienne and said, “Ser Jaime waits for you. We can finish this later.”

“My duty comes first,” Brienne assured her, but Sansa had waved her off. 

“The grain can hold for a few hours. It's a lovely afternoon and your lion is bored.” 

“He's not my lion,” she'd squeaked to Sansa's back, the young woman already off and heading for her next responsibility. 

Brienne had turned to find Jaime looking at her expectantly, his green eyes glinting. She stalked over to him. “What do you want?” she said, before he could try to charm her out of her annoyance. 

Jaime looked unperturbed. “I'm just standing here.” 

“Don't you have something else you can do?”

“But I so like watching you work.” 

“I wasn't doing anything, just standing there talking with Lady Sansa.”

“Yes and you looked so responsible and serious doing it.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she couldn't help it, she laughed. He pounced on her shift in mood. “Apparently the sun does sometimes shine in the North. Take a walk with me.” 

“Jaime,” she sighed, but she already knew she would give in and the sun wouldn't last forever. “Very well.” 

He took her hand and she blushed, still not comfortable showing even simple affection out in the open where anyone could see. “Show me the North in sunlight, Ser Brienne,” he said, tugging her to walk next to him. 

They'd walked out of Winterfell's gates and around the nearby lands for hours, their boots crunching in time together in the snow. Brienne pointed out what she'd learned of the area and Jaime listened and watched her, occasionally asking questions to keep her talking. They held hands the whole time. 

When the clouds started blowing in again they returned to Winterfell. Jaime hesitated before the gates and turned to her, releasing her hand. His cheeks were pink with the cold and Brienne expected hers were even worse “Thank you for the walk, my lady. I learned a great deal.” 

“I fear I talked too much,” she admitted. 

Jaime's whole face crinkled when he smiled. “Never. And if you had, I would have stopped you like this,” he said, kissing her softly, there under the watchful eyes of the gate guards. She felt her whole body flush but the cold of his lips and heat of his breath were too much to resist and she kissed him back, their bodies touching nowhere but their mouths. It was Brienne who pulled away first, and Jaime's eyes fluttered open when she did. “See?” he said, grinning at her. “You're speechless.” He took her hand again and led her back to Winterfell, depositing her in the courtyard with a chase kiss on her knuckles. “I'll see you at supper,” he said, waving as he walked off. Brienne would always remember the way she'd felt in that moment, the snow starting to lightly fall again and her burning like a torch with love.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time they reached Cape Wrath, two weeks had passed and Jaime had spent most of them in a haze of exhaustion and pain. Bronn had given him three days to heal more and practice walking, and when that didn't make Jaime much faster than a snail, Bronn had snarled and thrown Jaime in the boat anyway. 

“We'll get horses,” Bronn had said as he'd rowed them back across the bay, complaining the entire way about having to do it all on his own. 

Horses had been a nightmare. They were faster than Jaime's own pace, but not much, because any more than a stately walk caused Jaime's body to bounce so much he'd passed out the first time they tried it. Bronn had barely caught him before he fell off his horse, so after that Jaime had been tied to his saddle, too. If he'd been aware enough to think on it, Jaime would have ranked this humiliation at least equal to those first days after Locke had chopped off his hand. At least then he'd had Brienne on his side. 

At night Jaime was always so tired he collapsed into dreamless sleep, sometimes before he'd even finished eating supper, and when he woke every morning he was disappointed, though whether it was because he hadn't dreamed of Brienne or just to wake at all, he couldn't tell. 

When they finally arrived at Seaworth's Keep late in the afternoon in the middle of a dull rain, Jaime was convinced he'd died in King's Landing and this was actually one of the Seven Hells. They rode, dripping, up to the gate, where Bronn halted them both. They waited, but there was no movement by the guards.

“Oi!” Bronn yelled. They waited again and finally Jaime heard clanking. 

A helmeted head peeked over the wall. “What?”

“I am Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, here at the invitation of Lord Davos Seaworth.”

The guard jutted his chin at Jaime. “Who's that?”

“My cousin. Lord Davos invited him, too.” 

“I've never heard of any Ser Bronn.” 

Bronn's face tightened and Jaime hoped the man could keep it together long enough to get them indoors. “You don't have to have heard of me, your lord has and he's invited me here. Let us in.” 

“How do I know you're not some bandit coming to steal the Lord's goods while he's gone? You don't look like a knight.” 

Bronn opened his mouth and Jaime quietly said, “don't.” 

The sellsword snarled but he turned to Jaime. “You have a better plan?” he hissed. 

“Tell him Lady Marya is expecting us.” 

“You're assuming Davos told her.”

“Yes, but it's better than insulting the guard. He may seem incompetent, but there are multiple crossbows trained on us right now.” Jaime indicated the well-hidden positions with his eyes. He could see when Bronn found them, too. 

“Let your Lady Marya know I've arrived, she'll have word from her lord husband.” 

The guard huffed but disappeared again. 

“Can't believe I missed the crossbows,” Bronn muttered. 

“Losing your edge being a lord. You sure you want Highgarden? Might make you soft as pillow.” Bronn just glared at him through the raindrops. 

The guard still hadn't returned after several minutes, but they heard the gates open and a plump, friendly-faced woman bustled out. “Ser Bronn!” she said, holding her hands out in welcome. “And your...cousin.” Jaime tugged on the edge of his hood, suddenly nervous that Seaworth was not as reliable as Bronn believed. 

“My lady,” Bronn said. “Thank you for your hospitality while your husband is away.”

“My husband demanded it. You can lead your horses inside. Our stable is small but we can keep them dry and fed.” 

Jaime was still tied to his horse and wasn't convinced he could walk anyway. He looked to Bronn for assistance. 

“My cousin took a bad fall off his horse the other day – distracted by a pretty woman. Looked much like you, as a matter of fact, m'lady.” Marya's cheeks reddened a little. “I'll get him and the horses settled and we'll find you in the dining hall later?”

“Of course, ser. Just talk to Janoh at the stables to have him direct you where you need to go. I'll see you both for supper later.” 

It took too long and so much effort to dismount and make it to the room set aside for them that Jaime fell onto his bed and stayed there even when Bronn left to go eat. Jaime dozed fitfully, trying not to move, his wet clothes clammy and rough against his skin. Water dripped from his hair down his neck, making him itch. 

He tried to think instead of Brienne, but even there all he could conjure was the slow torture of the day he'd decided to leave. It had started like most of their days, waking up together with the sunrise, him complaining about the cold until she shoved him out of the bed to put logs on the fire. He'd placed his icy toes on her legs when he'd crept back under the covers and she'd yelped and elbowed him in the stomach. Brienne had duties that day so Jaime had spent time in the morning training with Pod, and that afternoon he'd gone looking for Brienne, anxious to needle her until those blue eyes were burning. 

Instead he had found another reminder of his sister, and this time the sick certainty that something dark had changed with the raven's letter. Cersei had not sent him a single message, had in fact only sent him Bronn and his promised death, but still all Jaime could think was she would either destroy everyone or be destroyed and he couldn't stay here in Winterfell while either of those happened. He had hoped Daenerys' clear advantage would convince Cersei to do what was best for her baby – for their baby. But while Cersei thought there were a chance at victory, she would never yield, even if Daenerys rode that damned dragon straight into the Red Keep. Jaime knew better than anyone that Cersei was made of steel and sorrow, and the only one she might listen to was him – the willing receptacle and eager hand of her darkest deeds. He had hoped if he bathed in the light shining from Brienne he might wash it all away, but he had been a fool. 

And like a fool he'd still gone to Brienne's bed that night, after promising himself he would tell her after supper, after they undressed, after they had collapsed in each other's arms. _Tell her now_ he urged himself, watching her shift and sigh as she settled in the bed. 

He opted for the coward's way instead, was caught out by Brienne as a coward should be. And now he was here, hobbled and aching, while Brienne believed he had died and he had never told her he loved her. 

Jaime remembered Tyrion's voice in his ear, _you were saved for a reason_. He had to get to Brienne, no matter what it took. He had to make sure his awfulness hadn't dimmed her light. 

Bronn's footsteps echoed down the hallway and Jaime pushed hard at his heart, trying to get it to settle, so that when Bronn opened the door he was able to smile sardonically at the other man. “Bring me any food?” he asked. 

“You didn't ask me to.” 

Jaime grunted, but he wasn't hungry anyway. 

“Are you still in your wet clothes?” Bronn sat down on the other bed and pulled off his boots with a groan. “You'll catch your death of cold,” he added drily. 

“That would be a terrible irony.” 

“Come on, let me help you.” He tugged off Jaime's boots and cloak, and then helped Jaime into a sitting position while the world went gray at the edges from the pain in his collarbone. “You have to undress yourself, though,” Bronn said. 

Jaime remembered Brienne's fingers at his ties, her hands tugging his trousers down over his hipbones. He looked away and tried to think of anything else. Bronn readied for bed on his side of the room and was lying down by the time Jaime had managed to get down to his smallclothes. 

“How long are we welcome here?” Jaime asked, giving up and gently easing himself down and under the scratchy woolen blanket. 

“Until we hear from Davos what's happened.” 

“Tyrion could be dead by then.” 

“He could.” 

“So we do nothing?”

“Exactly.” 

He hated it, down to the core of his being. Jaime didn't care for waiting; he wanted to act. But even he knew he'd be hopeless on his own. Their simple journey had wrecked him; there was no way he could be well enough to ride any further, or fight when he got there. 

“You could have stayed in the North,” Bronn said. He'd pillowed his head on his arms, and he turned to look at Jaime now. “Then you'd be in one piece and with the Tarth woman to help you.” 

“I couldn't let Cersei die alone.” 

“She hired me to murder you, and your brother.” 

Jaime sighed. “It didn't matter.” None of it mattered, there on that dark night as he'd readied his horse: her insults, her lying, the people she'd killed. All he could think was that she needed him, and it was his duty to go to her, the only thing in the world he was truly worth anything for. 

_Brienne needed you_ , he thought, though that couldn't possibly be true. He needed Brienne more than she would ever need him. He'd given her the one thing he alone could by knighting her and once that was done he was only taking, gulping down like a desperate man whatever kindness she showed him. 

“If you didn't want her to die alone, why'd you get caught?”

“They found me and I couldn't fight them off on my own.” 

“I heard they found your golden hand. You might be the stupidest Lannister, but even the stupidest Lannister is smarter than most people. Riding around with your hand uncovered? I think you wanted to get caught.” 

“I didn't want to get caught,” Jaime protested. “I needed to get to Cersei.”

Bronn snorted. “You needed to get your head kicked in.” 

“Why do you care?” Jaime spit. “You're better off with me here, aren't you? You don't think Daenerys wouldn't have thrown Tyrion in prison anyway, whether he'd let me go or not?” 

“Aye she would have. I'm just trying to figure you out. You were up in Winterfell a long time, living it up with another woman. I waited for you to come out of that tent after Tyrion gave you the key, and had to leave before I even saw your face. And you left your sword behind when you knew you were heading into a battle. None of that sounds like a man who ends up crushed under a keep because he just had to be with his sister.” 

Jaime was quiet and Bronn, apparently satisfied he'd made whatever point he was aiming for, turned over and fell asleep almost immediately. But it was not the other man's snoring that kept Jaime awake long into the night, piecing together the puzzle Bronn had left him. Why had he felt dread when Tyrion had first produced the key for his chains? Why had Tyrion made him swear he would go to Cersei, piling another oath on Jaime's back like he couldn't be trusted without it? Why had Jaime felt the weight of Brienne's absence most keenly when he was alone and free in the tent after Tyrion had left, when they hadn't spoken of her at all and choice was no longer possible? Why now when everything was pain and despair, did he only ever reach for Brienne? 

When had his heart and soul stopped belonging to Cersei?

**********

The council at the dragonpit was not at all what Brienne had expected, least of all her role in it. She had thought she'd stand with Sansa as the other woman's sworn knight, not sit with the lords and ladies and give her vote for king. But Brienne's father had sent word that she was to be the Tarth representative in his stead, and so she had sat and Samwell Tarly had called her the Evenstar and smiled that tentative, kind smile of his and Brienne had felt something long ago put away flutter in her heart.

After the council, when the group broke to make small talk and congratulate the new king, Arya appeared at her side, looking curiously at her. “Do you think you'll go back to Tarth now?”

Brienne frowned down at the young woman. “I am sworn to protect your sister, I cannot go to Tarth.”

“What if she released you from your service? Would you go then?”

“I...” Brienne darted a look at Sansa, who was having a quiet conversation with her brother, their new king. “I do not know. But I have not asked to be released from service. I am honored to serve your lady sister, the new Queen in the North.”

Arya smirked. “She was always better at being a lady than I was; she'll make an even better queen. She wanted it, too. We both got where we wanted to be, in the end. It seems like you have to make the same choice.” 

“There is no choice to make,” Brienne said softly. “I could never be a true lady, not when I am also a knight. I want only to be a warrior who serves an honorable leader, and now I am and I do.”

“Plenty of knights are also lords, like Ser Davos. Why not you?”

Brienne opened her mouth, but she had no retort to that. Arya nodded, and patted her arm before sliding away again just as Sansa walked over. “Walk with me please, ser,” Sansa said, ushering her away from the dais. They walked silently past a small group of Northern guardsmen, who bowed their heads as Sansa passed. Already they were accepting her as their queen. It made Brienne's heart light to see it. 

When they'd walked a distance away, Sansa stopped and stared out at the still-recovering expanse of King's Landing. They'd cleared out most of the rubble, but the destruction of the dragonfire was still visible on every wall and around every corner. On Aegon's hill, work was already well underway at the Red Keep. Although not close to finished, it would still be ready to welcome King Bran and his new Hand within days. “The new king has asked a favor of me, but I told him I wouldn't agree until I talked with you first.” She looked up at Brienne. “King Bran would like you to be the Lady Commander of his Kingsguard.” 

“He...what?” Brienne blinked, certain she'd misunderstood. 

“You have served our family well, ser. He is still a Stark.”

“Yes, but,” Brienne took a deep breath to still her pounding heart. “You will need a Queensguard.” 

“I will, which is why I am reluctant to let you go. But there are many who have proven themselves in the recent battles and I will be protected well enough. The south is still a dangerous place, and I would feel better knowing Bran had someone who understood the north and the south at his side.”

“My lady, the Lord Commander should be the greatest knight of the realm, someone like-” she bit her lip before she could say Jaime's name, ended instead with, “Ser Barristan Selmy.” 

“Then King Bran has chosen well. He has asked for someone honorable and brave, and one of the greatest knights I have ever known.” Sansa smiled then, looking as proud as though she were Brienne's own sister. “A knight out of the stories of my youth; stories I had long since given up as fairytales.” 

Brienne knew she was blushing, felt her eyes hot with tears and her heart bursting inside her chest with pride and love. “My lady,” she whispered, too struck to speak more. 

“You will have to give up your claim to Tarth and your right to marry and have children.” Brienne thought of her conversation with Arya and was surprised to feel the loss of those possible futures so keenly. “Ser?” Sansa asked. 

“The Lord Commander must be devoted to his king.”

“Yes, she must,” Sansa said. “I'll miss having you around, my friend, but you will do us all proud. Will you accept this honor?”

Brienne blinked hard, but a few tears still slipped down her cheeks. She bit her lip and nodded. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. 

Sansa smiled and hugged her tightly. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered into Brienne's shoulder. “I would not have survived without you.” 

“I very much doubt that,” Brienne said through her tears, hugging Sansa close. “My only regret is not being there to see you made Queen.”

“I will feel you there in spirit,” Sansa said, pulling back and wiping her own eyes. “Come, let's get back and share the good news. There is much to be done still for both of us and we must get started.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jaime and Bronn waited in the rainy Stormlands for a week before word finally winged its way to them of Tyrion's fate. Jaime was taking a slow walk around the grounds when he saw the raven flutter to the rookery. He'd been getting a little stronger every day, the fractures in his legs having mostly healed, and movement came with less and less pain. He did not dare try to fight yet or even lift a sword, but at least he could move. 

Lady Marya found him several minutes later, holding out the coiled note. “Chiggen,” she said, coming towards him. Bronn had come up with that name for him, and though Jaime hated it, he'd let it slide. They'd left his hair long and unkempt as well and he'd dressed in simple Stormlands' wool. No one seemed to have a clue who he really was, even the Lady of the keep. “Where is your cousin?”

“I don't know, my lady. But may I take that note on his behalf?”

She frowned. “The note is directed to Ser Bronn, I would rather wait.” 

Jaime ground his teeth, impatient with all of this. The waiting to hear, the waiting to heal, the daily churn of his own memories and regrets. He wanted only to be out of here and on his way to King's Landing where the two people he loved most were. “I will take him the message, my lady.” She looked distrustful so he added, “I swear it on Ser Bronn's father.” He knew how much Bronn had hated his own father; he'd find it hilarious that Jaime would break an oath in his name.

Lady Marya nodded and handed him the note. “You are healing well, Chiggen,” she said, not looking interested in leaving him to his task. 

“Must be the fresh Stormland air,” he said with his best charming smile. “I am feeling a bit tired now, though, after my walk. I should find Ser Bronn before I am too exhausted.”

“Oh, of course!” she said, moving aside. 

Jaime nodded and hurried into the keep and straight for their room. He'd lied earlier, too – he knew exactly where Bronn was and that he wouldn't be back until late into the evening once he'd fully satisfied himself at the nearby brothel. Jaime pulled off his cloak and awkwardly unrolled the note with hand and teeth, pressing it flat on the table to read. 

_Bronn - I am still not dead._

Jaime sighed, a loud, trembling exhalation of relief. He'd been so afraid his brother's inestimable luck had finally run out. He pressed his face into the crook of his elbow for a moment, keeping tears at bay, before reading the rest.

_Bran has been chosen King of the Six Kingdoms, Sansa as Queen in the North. I have been named Hand of the new King as punishment. Jon Snow exiled to the Wall. Ser Brienne new Commander of the Kingsguard; her choice, not punishment. It is safe for you to come to King's Landing. If your cousin still lives, leave him there for now. But tell him-_

Tyrion had scratched out the last three words and instead just signed his name. 

“Tell me what?” Jaime said out loud to the room. He read the note again, his eyes resting on Ser Brienne and Commander of the Kingsguard. There was no more perfect choice for the role. Jaime imagined her standing tall and proud next to Bran, her armor gleaming, the white cloak billowing at her back. She would be an astonishing sight, and as great as Ser Arthur Dayne he was sure. His heart felt swollen with pride in his chest, knowing how much she had been through to get to this moment. The act of knighting her was still the best thing he'd done in his whole miserable life. Bran was lucky to have Brienne as his Commander; she would lead the Kingsguard with honor and skill and she would defend him to her last breath. Jaime was convinced she would have found a way to stop the Mad King himself, one that didn't involve a sword to the back. 

He wanted to see her standing confident and sure at the King's side. He wanted to see the blue of her eyes again, he wanted to see her awkwardly blushing because of something he'd said. Although whether she would want to see him still remained a mystery. Surely she would have moved on by now, had locked the door he'd so cruelly slammed in her face. It would be selfish to show up and burst through it, bringing with him all the memory and pain, even if it was to apologize. 

_You were saved for a reason._

Even if Bronn was right and it was just dumb fucking luck that he hadn't been crushed to death, what kind of man would he be if he hid who he was for the rest of his dreadful life? If he never got to see Brienne again, shining like a star and twice as bright. He must get back to King's Landing, Tyrion's words otherwise be damned. Jaime had never been craven in battle, and the rocks had beaten the fear of everything else out of him, too. He would not cower here when everything he wanted was somewhere else. He had lived like that for too long already. 

By the time Bronn returned late that evening, Jaime had packed up all of their things and was pacing the room in anxious circles like a caged lion. 

“There you are,” he hissed as soon as the door opened. 

Bronn stumbled in, the smell of ale crowding around him. “Here I am,” he announced too loudly. Jaime grunted and shut the door behind him. 

“Tyrion is alive,” he said. “And we have to go back to King's Landing.” He handed Bronn the note. The man unrolled it with careful, slow fingers, taking so long to blink and squint at the words that Jaime had to clench his hand from grabbing it away. 

“This says I have to go back,” Bronn said. “Not you.” 

“I don't care what it says. We're going together.” 

Bronn turned to stare at Jaime curiously. “Stay here you idiot. They might still hang you.”

“I don't care,” Jaime repeated firmly. 

“Well,” Bronn said, standing slowly and swaying only a little. “It's your funeral. We'll go in the morning.” 

He tumbled to his bed without even removing his boots and was snoring only moments later. Jaime sat on the edge of his bed and tried to figure out what he would say to Brienne when he saw her again.

**********

It took another week after the council at the Dragonpit before the Red Keep was cleaned out and at least some of the rooms were safe enough to use. The throne room was still a disaster, but the common room at the bottom of White Sword Tower had miraculously been spared and the White Book with it. Once Bran had officially been made King and the other Kingsguard had been selected, Brienne found time on a cool, sunny afternoon to go to the common room and look at the Book.

It was old and thick as her leg, and when she opened it the musty smell of history wafted out. She turned to the last pages and found her name already there, next to the sun and moon sigil of House Tarth. Brienne brushed her fingers over it, feeling grateful for what she had while mourning the future that could never be. Her father had sent a note only a day ago telling her how honored he was to hear she would be Lady Commander and that he would redouble his efforts to produce another heir for the House. In taking this oath she had had to choose one path and leave the other behind, as she'd told Arya she must. But the choice still was a small ache in her heart. 

She had two pages set aside, both currently blank. Soon she would determine how to start her entry, knowing she had to somehow speak of Renly and Catelyn and Jaime and the path that led her here. Brienne flipped through the other entries in the White Book, reading of successes and failures, of men who had lived and died before she was even born. Battles she had heard of and minor skirmishes she hadn't. The words were true but the stories behind them were missing. When it came time to write of Renly, she would say only that she had first served under him and been there when he died, not how he had smiled at her like she was not a freak. When she wrote that Jaime knighted her before the Battle of Winterfell, she would not write of all the days before that moment that they had spent together, nor of the ones after that had been like a dream. Brienne imagined all of the entries in the book were the same; the words carried the memories, but it was their hearts that carried the meaning. She would carry what Jaime meant to her in all she did without having to share it in the uncaring black ink of the Book. 

Brienne turned to Jaime's page, the entry still unfinished. It was for this she had come today. The world did not need to know that Jaime Lannister had died wrongly believing he was only a hateful and worthless man. That was the story only Brienne knew, and she would tell it to no one. Instead she wrote his deeds, her pen scratching steady and sure across the pages. And as the ink dried in the afternoon sun, Brienne blinked back tears and quietly prayed to the gods that he had at the end found peace.


	6. Chapter 6

Bronn had made them wait another week before leaving, which Jaime would have strangled him for if he'd had another hand and a working collarbone. The other man had woken up with a hangover the next morning and an implacable argument that if Jaime couldn't mount his own horse, he wasn't going to take one step towards King's Landing. 

It had taken a week before Jaime could meet that one requirement, which galled him. He'd been young and whole once and a horse had been as easy to mount as jumping over a small stream, another thing Jaime couldn't do yet. He was healing everywhere, slowly, but too much abrupt jostling still made pain shoot quick and sharp down his chest and arm. By the time he'd managed to mount and dismount his horse without yelping, his legs had fully healed and his ribs were close behind. Every day he thought of Brienne, wondering how she was doing as Commander of the Kingsguard, and every night he fought with himself over seeing her again. He was still the same man that had done the terrible acts he'd confessed to her on that dark night; Cersei's death had not made him different, it had only cut him loose from the one constant in his life. Without Cersei he had only himself to follow, and he was not sure his moral compass pointed true. But he could not live as Chiggen forever, and if Jaime Lannister returned from the dead, he owed it to Brienne to tell her first. He owed it to her to say what he must so she knew it had been all on him, never her, and then he could leave her and somehow live with just the memory of her wide blue eyes. 

What he would do knowing she was alive and he couldn't be near her, he had no idea, but that problem was too terrible and still far away to spend time worrying about now. 

Now they were huddled in the dark in a destroyed alley in King's Landing, waiting for Tyrion to arrive. The stone walls were still blackened from the inferno of dragonfire, and two months later only a few windswept piles of ash remained along the bottom of the broken walls. Jaime wondered if they were people and had to look away. He could still feel the press of bodies against the gates, the way they'd all surged forward, desperate for safety. All of them had surely died somewhere between the walls and the flame. _I should have died, too_ he thought for the hundredth time, remembering the sharp edge of the rocks as they came crashing down on him and Cersei. He should not have survived, had not earned that right, yet here he was about to be reunited with his brother. 

There were scraping noises at the alley's less-ruined entrance and Jaime huddled down deeper into the shadows, pulling his cloak about him. 

“Hello?” he heard faintly. “Bronn?”

Bronn stepped out into the middle of the alley, hands loose and ready to go for his sword. “Here,” he called back low. 

Jaime peered into the dark until a form appeared, making its way with cautious steps. It was Tyrion and Jaime stood suddenly, making Bronn bark in surprise and Tyrion halt, hands out. He shoved past Bronn to move to his brother and knelt down to hug him with one arm. Tyrion grasped him eagerly, his hands grabbing Jaime's cloak in tight fists, burying his head on Jaime's good shoulder.

“You shouldn't have come, but I'm so glad to see you. I told everyone so many times that you had died I'd started believing it myself,” Tyrion whispered into the dark, his voice thick with tears. 

“You're not rid of me yet.”

“I could not have wished for a better outcome. The only Lannister I care about survived.” 

Jaime stiffened and Tyrion pulled back. “You shouldn't speak ill of the dead,” Jaime said quietly. “Especially when she was your sister.”

“She would have thrown me under the rocks to save herself. She would have thrown me under the rocks even if she'd still died just to have the satisfaction of taking me with her.”

“Tyrion,” Jaime sighed. 

“I don't feel badly about being glad she's gone and you're here. Do you know how many years I wished for just this? Just you and me, no Cersei, no father.” 

“Two Lannisters alone in the world? Will we protect each other then, the dwarf and the cripple?”

Tyrion frowned; this close Jaime could see his irritated confusion in the dark. “Protect each other from what?”

“The Starks for one.”

“Do you mean King Bran? I'm his Hand now. Or do you mean Queen Sansa, who is happily installed back in the North and still owes you for joining the fight against the white walkers? Even if you did leave rather...abruptly.” Tyrion shook his head. “Daenerys is dead, Jon Snow is exiled to the wilds, Arya is sailing to the west, the lords and ladies of the six kingdoms have worked together to select a king we can believe in, at least for now. There are not enemies around every corner anymore, Jaime. Father and Cersei didn't trust anyone because they knew they themselves could not be trusted. That doesn't mean Lannisters have to only cleave to each other. I thought you had finally understood that in Winterfell.” 

Jaime had thought he'd understood a lot of things in Winterfell, until he remembered he could not run forever from what he had done. “You do recall I'm the reason our new King can't walk?”

“Of course I do. And so does he. But if he'd wanted you dead he could have done it back at Winterfell and no one would have stopped him. Well, maybe one person.” Tyrion hesitated. “She's in the Keep, you know.”

“I know,” Jaime said, somehow able to talk though his throat was swollen with nerves and anxious worry just thinking of her. “Does she know...?”

“That you're alive? No. Will you tell her?”

“I have to. I owe her that.” 

“The new Lady Commander and I have mostly avoided each other so far, so I haven't gotten any of the story of what happened between you two. I left you happy in Winterfell and then found you miserable out of Winterfell. What happened? What did you say when you left, that she barely even talks to me?” Jaime bowed his head, unable to speak, and he heard Tyrion scoff. “Maybe you shouldn't see her then, if you wish to remain alive.” 

“If that's what she chooses, I owe her that, too,” he whispered. 

Tyrion made a soft, considering noise. “Are you sure you're my brother? You seem a different man.” 

“Almost dying will do that to you I suppose.” 

“You have almost died several times as I recall. Perhaps this is just you without Cersei's weight dragging you down.” 

“She didn't force me to do the things I did.” 

“She didn't,” Tyrion agreed. “But you stopped doing them when you met Brienne, when you saw what else was possible. Cersei hasn't been your mirror for a long time, Jaime. I'm glad you were there for her at the end, but I'm more glad that when you look now you can see yourself and not her.” 

“It's not much to see,” Jaime said quietly. Bronn was still hovering at their backs and Jaime's knees hurt digging into the stones of the alley. He rose slowly, groaning a bit at the pain. 

“Still not fully healed?” Tyrion asked, surprised. 

“A whole fucking Keep did fall on me,” Jaime muttered. “What do we do now?”

“With your unexpected arrival I haven't been able to appropriately test the waters, but I believe you should see the king first.”

“Get my head chopped off right away?”

“If that's what he wills, but I wouldn't take you to him if I thought that were true. I'd force Bronn to take you to Essos and lose you there. Our king may already know you're alive anyway, he is the Three-Eyed Raven.” 

“What does that even mean?”

Tyrion shrugged, starting back down the alley and motioning for them to follow. “It means he probably won't need to fill the Master of Whisperers spot on the council,” he said.

They walked through dark and desolate streets, through piles of wood and more small drifts of ash. Against one wall Jaime saw what looked like the shadow of a body, painted on the wall with arms thrown up as though pleading with the gods or Daenerys to stop the destruction. “Gods,” he muttered, “who did that?”

Tyrion looked where Jaime pointed and his face drew down into a look of exhausted grief. “The dragon.”

Jaime looked again and realized it was not paint that had created the shadow, and his stomach clenched and jerked with horror. He glanced around, saw other areas that he'd thought were only burned stone were also imprints of those who had died, captured in their final, agonized moments. A silent memorial that lined the streets as they walked without talking the rest of the way to the Red Keep.

**********

Tyrion frowned as he came back around the corner where Jaime was hiding. They'd left Bronn to sleep in a spare bedroom and were just steps away from Bran's door.

“There's no guard,” Tyrion whispered, and Jaime went on alert. There was always a guard with the King, and if one was missing in the middle of the night, it could only bode ill. 

“If something's happened to him and they find me here,” Jaime started, but Tyrion shook his head fiercely. 

“I won't let that happen. But you should go back to Bronn's room and wait. I'll look in on the king myself.”

“And let them find you with his dead body? No. I'll leave, go back into hiding-”

“They're not going to think I killed him, if he's even dead.”

“You're the Kingslayer's brother,” Jaime hissed. “Of course they'll think that.” 

“We'll think what?” another voice said from behind Jaime and they both jumped. Jaime gripped the pommel of the plain sword he carried now, but when he turned he saw it was Bran himself, his face blank except for a small, engimatic smile. Podrick Payne stood behind Bran, having pushed him here, and his mouth was open, his eyes huge and surprised. 

“S-ser Jaime?” the young man squeaked. 

“Pod,” he said, feeling himself smile even though his heart drummed hard in his chest. “Gods, you're a knight now!” 

“Ser Brienne knighted me,” he whispered, his owl-eyes blinking slowly. “Forgive me ser, but. Aren't you dead?”

Jaime laughed a little. “I was only mostly dead,” he said. 

Tyrion shoved forward and bowed to Bran. “King Bran,” he said in a deep, respectful voice. “I hope we did not wake you.” 

“I often find it difficult to sleep,” Bran said. “And I knew you had a visitor for me tonight. Come, it will be more comfortable in my rooms.” They stood there, Pod still gaping open-mouthed. “Ser Podrick,” Bran said sharply. Pod shook his head, blinked, and pushed Bran to his room. 

Once Bran had been arranged by the warm fire, with Tyrion and Jaime still standing in front of him and Podrick having retreated to his post outside the door, Tyrion began to speak. 

“My King,” he started, and Bran held up a hand. 

“You have questions,” the young king said to Jaime. “Ask them.”

“You said there wasn't anything after,” Jaime blurted out. “Back at the heart tree.”

“I said how do you know there is.” 

“Did you know I was alive this whole time?”

“It doesn't work like that. I know what I need to know when I need to know it. Inconvenient at times, but true.” Bran folded his hands in his lap. “Ask me what you really want to know.”

Jaime licked his lips. “Are you going to execute me?”

“No,” Bran said and Jaime believed him. “But that's not the question I meant.”

He could feel Tyrion staring at his face, didn't need to look at his brother to feel his concern. Jaime had no idea what else Bran thought he should ask, though. The fire popped, a spark jumping and landing on the stone at his feet. “I don't have any other questions,” Jaime finally said. 

Bran lifted an eyebrow. “When you're ready to ask, I have an answer.” He stared into the fire and Jaime wondered if they should leave. 

“My King?” Tyrion said, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“We are missing members for the small council still,” Bran said after another quiet moment. 

“Yes. We have had many other things to do just to get you crowned.” Jaime smothered a grin at Tyrion's barely concealed annoyance. “Although I believe I've found a Master of Coin. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.”

“Do you trust him?”

“When I can pay him.” 

“Is he good with money?”

“He's good at sniffing it out.” Tyrion shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Jaime didn't blame Bran for the questioning; he had no idea himself why Tyrion would suggest Bronn as Master of Coin. “He will be lord of Highgarden, though, and making him part of your small council would bind him to you. You need to reward your allies, Your Grace.” 

“Mm,” Bran said noncommittally. “He will do for now. And Ser Jaime will be my Master of Laws.”

Jaime and Tyrion gawked at the young king. “What? Why?” Tyrion asked

“No one knows better about imprisonment and justice. It is a fitting punishment for his crimes. And,” Bran said, finally meeting Jaime's eyes. “You owe me.” 

Jaime could have argued the first points, but to the last he had no retort. He had come here just hoping to not be rightfully killed or locked away for treason. “I am finding it difficult to say no,” Jaime said drily. 

Bran just smiled, a slight, knowing twist of the lips. 

“Is that all, Your Grace?” Tyrion asked.

Bran nodded, the slightest movement of his head. He barely seemed there, though his body was right in front of them. 

“One last thing,” Jaime said as Tyrion started to leave. “I would wish to tell Ser Brienne first that I'm alive, before anyone else finds out.”

Bran blinked slowly at the fire and said in a faraway voice, “your wish is granted.” With that, Tyrion tugged at Jaime's sleeve and they hurried from the room. 

When the door closed again behind them, Tyrion sighed heavily and wiped his hand down his face. “That went better than I expected.”

“Did you put him up to that?” 

“The Master of Laws appointment?” Tyrion scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Jaime frowned, oddly offended. “Well why not?”

“Jaime,” Tyrion sighed. 

Podrick cleared his throat, reminding them he was standing there. The shock was gone, but it had been replaced by a hard line to his jaw. “Ser Jaime,” he said, his voice deep with anger. 

“Podrick-”

“ _Ser_ Podrick,” he said.

Jaime pursed his lips. “Ser Podrick.” He wanted to beg the boy for forgiveness, he wanted to beg him for every last word he had about Brienne, but he suspected neither of those would be well-received. “You make a fine Kingsguard.”

“How would you know, ser?” Podrick said, and Jaime felt that one angry, dismissive sentence pierce his heart. He'd fucked this up even more than he'd realized. 

“We should go,” Tyrion said, “especially if you don't want anyone else to know about you yet.”

“Don't tell her,” Jaime did beg Podrick, then. “Please, Pod. I need to be the one to do it.” 

“I won't lie to her.”

“I'm not asking you to. Just give me time.”

“Time to run away again?”

Jaime shut his eyes for a moment, sighed. When he opened them, Podrick was still glaring at him. “I deserve your distrust. I'll tell her now if you lead me to her.”

“Ah, no,” Tyrion piped up. “You can't wake her up in the middle of the night to spring on her that you've effectively come back from the dead. We need the Lady Commander to be at her best.”

“Then in the morning.”

“She is with the king then,” Podrick said, somehow disapproving that Jaime didn't already know Brienne's schedule. 

“We have a council meeting tomorrow,” Tyrion said. “You could tell her then.”

“I won't just surprise her at the small council,” Jaime protested. 

“She takes time to herself every afternoon,” Podrick offered, grudgingly. “Uusually to spend time in the godswood. She tells me so I know where to find her if something happens, but nothing ever does.”

“That would be after the council,” Tyrion said, scratching his beard. “You'd have to miss the first one, but I suspect that won't be a problem.”

Jaime nodded, glanced at Pod. “Swear you won't tell her before that.”

Podrick chewed his lip, but nodded sharply. “I swear. But if you don't, I will.”

“All I want is to talk to her again,” Jaime said, his voice soft. “Is she...happy?”

“She is proud of her role.” Podrick's eyes dropped briefly to his feet. “She has not often been happy in the time I've known her.” 

_She was happy with me_ , Jaime thought, remembering her hard-won smiles, the way her eyes lit deep inside like the moon shining on a lake. Leaving had seemed so necessary, the only path he could have taken even though it was dark and terrible. He wondered what would have happened if he'd stayed. But he couldn't imagine Cersei coming down those stairs and being alone with her fear and their baby; couldn't imagine being in Winterfell when the news of his sister's death winged north and Brienne would look at him and know him a coward for staying. He had to make Brienne understand that he did not choose Cersei over her, he chose Cersei over himself, as he had for all their lives. 

“Thank you,” Jaime said out loud. Podrick nodded again, and Tyrion led Jaime back to a nondescript room in a lower level of the Keep where Bronn was already sleeping. 

“I'll get Bronn for the council in the morning and bring you some food and clothes that don't make you look like a Stormlands beggar.” 

“I thought I looked dashing,” Jaime said, and Tyrion snorted. 

His brother nodded at Jaime's right hand. “I could try to get your golden hand back again.” 

“No. It was a weight I don't need. I'll have a new one made, something that suits me better. Something that suits the Master of Laws better.” Jaime shook his head. “Gods why did I agree to that?”

“The same reason I agreed to be Hand: you didn't really have much of a choice.” He patted Jaime on the back.

“What happened to Cersei?” Jaime asked, thinking of his golden hand and the golden haired sister he'd left behind. 

“They took her body – and whoever that was that Davos put in for you – to Casterly Rock. We're lucky she was found after Daenerys' death or it could have been a much more gruesome disposal.” 

Jaime's stomach turned, imagining what the wild and angry northmen might have done to his twin's body with the fire of the battle still burning in them. “She always wanted her own place in the Hall of Heroes when she died,” he murmured. 

“She'll be lucky to have her name carved into the stones.”

“She wasn't like this as a girl.”

“Yes she was,” Tyrion said, and his eyes were hard with hurt. “Maybe not to you, but she was always this Cersei to me. Always.” 

Jaime nodded slowly, feeling old and aching and tired. “Why is life so long?”

“So we can make up for the many stupid things we do in our youth, I expect,” Tyrion said, trying to smile. 

“Do you think she'll forgive me?”

“Cersei?”

“Brienne.” 

“Ah.” Tyrion shrugged. “Depends on how well you apologize.” 

“It would have been better if I'd died.”

“Why? I told you the gods saved you for a reason. It appears that reason is to make up being a complete ass to a good woman.” 

“The best woman I have ever known,” Jaime said fiercely. 

Tyrion smiled. “Go with that and you'll do fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes there is a small Princess Bride reference in this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Brienne was relieved when their first small council finally ended. She'd made her case for the ships over the brothels, and Davos and Samwell Tarly had both supported her completely, but she was not convinced Tyrion Lannister would listen to them and King Bran did not seem to have any interest in this part of ruling. She'd known of course that being Lady Commander meant her duties included sitting on the small council, but hadn't anticipated how frustrating it could be. 

It didn't help that every time she looked at Tyrion, she thought about Jaime. 

She watched him saying something quietly to Bronn as she carefully tucked her chair back in, wondered for the hundredth time if Jaime had said anything about her when Tyrion had set him free. Tyrion knew they had been together in Winterfell, but he'd said barely a word to her since he'd been freed and she wasn't sure how to broach such an emotionally dangerous subject with him. She had barely been able to speak to him at all of Jaime's death. When she and Sansa had come back from their walk at the dragonpit and King Bran had announced her as his Lady Commander, Tyrion, free from his chains, had come to her with a sad smile. 

“Congratulations,” he'd said, craning his neck to look up at her. 

“And to you.” Then, compelled, she'd quietly added, “I am sorry for your loss.” 

Tyrion's face had crinkled, a look of dismay. “And to you,” he'd said and Brienne could only nod her head before she'd had to turn away and gather herself. 

Tyrion was looking at her now in the council room and Brienne realized they were alone. “My lord Hand,” she said. “Did you need something?”

“Ser Podrick tells me you take some time to yourself in the afternoons.”

“I do,” she said, confused. “The king has allowed it, and I am always available if needed.”

“I'm not going to stop you,” he said. “It just helps to know in case something arises. You'll be taking time this afternoon?”

“Yes, by the godswood as always. Are you anticipating there will be some need of me? Should I not go today?”

“No!” Tyrion said, almost shouting. Brienne frowned. “Please, take your usual respite. I'm sure everything will be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Enjoy your time, ser.” He turned to go, but paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. “Jaime was so proud of knighting you. In all those years he spent by our sister's side, I don't remember him ever looking like he did that night. The way he felt for you was special.”

Brienne had no idea what to say to that, felt the questions she longed to ask banging in her heart. Tyrion turned to go again and the questions escaped after him. 

“Did he say anything to you, when he was captured?” _About me_ , she wanted to add, but managed to keep that locked away at least. 

Tyrion didn't turn around, but she could read the tightness in his shoulders as clearly as hearing his words. Jaime had not said anything at all about her. He had run away and been captured and even then he'd been focused on being with Cersei. Brienne had expected it and still it felt like a hot coal in her stomach. 

“My brother is an idiot,” Tyrion said, falsely cheerful. “I had to make him swear to rescue Cersei, though. He likely would have sat in those chains for the rest of the war.” 

“But why?” she whispered. “He had only one purpose when he left.” 

Tyrion glanced back at her. “You'd have to ask him that.” 

“You know I cannot.” 

The small man shrugged and departed without saying anything else, leaving Brienne with only her confusion and her aching heart.

**********

Jaime sat on his bed with his head between his knees, struggling not to vomit. “This is a mistake,” he groaned, feeling sweaty and dizzy-headed.

“You're gonna give up now? After you almost got buried in rubble?” Bronn said from the other side of the room.

“I can't see her.”

“Not like that you can't,” he agreed. Jaime heard the door open and close. 

“What's wrong with him?” Tyrion asked. 

“He's a fucking coward,” Bronn said blandly. 

“I am not,” Jaime protested, lifting his head to glare at the other men. But he was, he knew he was. How could he face her? What would he do if he couldn't convince her not to hate him? “Oh gods I am,” he muttered, covering his face with his hand. 

“None of that,” Tyrion said, coming over and tugging his arm. “Up you go, out to the godswood.” Jaime let himself be pulled to his feet. “She's waiting for you.”

“You told her?”

“No. I just...prepared her.”

Jaime's eyes narrowed at his little brother. “What did you do?”

The smaller man waved Jaime's worry away. “Reminded her of how you felt, that's all. I swear.” Jaime took a long, shaky breath. “If you want her, brother, you better go get her.” 

“I do,” he said, but he didn't move. 

Tyrion lifted his eyebrows. “But?”

“I don't deserve her.”

“That was true before and it didn't stop you.” 

Jaime glared. “I thought you were supposed to be helping me?”

“Bronn, give us a minute.” Bronn rolled his eyes and left the room and Tyrion smiled, an unusually soft and sad curl of his lips. “I can't make you believe in your own worth, Jaime. All I can do is point out the obvious: you are not a different man now than you were in Winterfell. A bit more broken, maybe. But Brienne did not care before and she won't care now.”

“She told me I was a good man,” Jaime murmured. “That I was better than Cersei.”

“You are.” 

“But the things I've done-”

“Are in the past,” Tyrion interrupted. “What's the last significant thing you did, before you left Brienne?”

“I don't-”

“Fought in the Battle of Winterfell,” Tyrion supplied. “And before that?”

“Tyrion-”

“Knighted Brienne. Before that, you came to Winterfell alone because you swore an oath to protect the realms of men. Before that you charged a dragon to try to save your men. You armed and armored Brienne to save the Stark girls. You saved me, many times. How far back do we have to go, Jaime? Three years? Four? Five?”

“You don't-” Jaime looked away, furious though he couldn't say why. “Doing some good doesn't wash away the bad.”

“Of course it doesn't. But why are you so convinced a person can never change? Am I still the drunken, whoring dwarf of old?”

“No,” Jaime admitted. 

“Is Bran the boy you pushed out a window?”

Jaime winced. “No,” he said. 

“We have all made choices,” Tyrion said urgently. “Some truly terrible. But we are trying to make the right ones now, even you. I have seen it. Cersei could have made a different choice at the end.”

“The bells rang,” Jaime said hoarsely. 

“It never should have come to that and you know it. You wouldn't have let it, if it had been you defending King's Landing. That's how I know Brienne is right.”

Jaime felt like he'd been spinning, talked in circles by his brother, and they had come to rest on Tyrion's final point. He wasn't sure he entirely believed Tyrion, except something warm and tentative fluttered inside him, like a bird hatching cautiously from its egg. He stared at his brother, and Tyrion nodded slowly. 

“She's in the godswood,” he said, and Jaime returned his nod, hurrying out the door, past Bronn, down the hall, letting the unfurling wings of hope drive him. 

Jaime took the fastest route to the godswood, bursting out into the golden afternoon sun and only slowing as he neared the entrance. His heart was pounding, but not from his relentless pace, as it only beat harder the slower he went. His mouth was dry as the Dornish desert when he stopped and watched the tree leaves rustling over the low wall a short distance away. He couldn't see Brienne yet and worried she wasn't here. His one hand was sweaty and he wiped it on his thigh, then across his brow, took a breath, and stepped into the protected grove.

**********

Brienne did not come to the godswood to pray. Though she had spent a lot of time in the North, she wasn't from there and she did not follow the old gods. She came to the tree because of the Starks, because it felt like she could touch it and somehow she would be nearer Sansa and Arya. She was touching it now, tracing her thick fingers over the bumps and curls of the bark. It was always quiet in this small alcove, and she often thought of watching over Sansa here years before, when both of them had been more innocent.

 _Innocent and foolish_ , she thought, recalling the day she'd been watching Sansa and Jaime had been there with her, needling her. Cersei had asked her at Joffrey's wedding if she loved Jaime and Brienne remembered feeling like a frightened rabbit being eyed by a hawk. If she could go back now she'd raise her head and say yes. If she could go back a few months she would tell Jaime that, as well. 

Brienne blinked hard, angry at herself that she still had any tears left even after Jaime had abandoned her, had gotten himself captured and killed and never even mentioned her name to his brother. Still, she missed him. She wondered what he would say about her being Commander of the Kingsguard. Likely he would have teased her relentlessly about it, smiling in that soft way he'd had at the end of their time together, when he'd wanted her to know none of it was meant to be cruel. 

There was noise at the entrance to the small grove and Brienne pressed her fingers hard against her eyes, then straightened. “Yes?” she said, expecting Pod. It was too early for her to return, and she prepared herself for bad news. 

She could never have prepared herself for Jaime stepping hesitantly into the sunlight. 

Brienne's breath stopped, her heart, too, she expected, as she tried to make sense of the man in front of her. His hair was longer, shaggier, his beard fuller and awkwardly trimmed. He wore a simple, ill-fitting outfit of trousers and shirt, and his open collar showed a bandage wrapped around his right shoulder. Where his golden hand had been there was emptiness. But his eyes were the same, green like the sun-dappled woods on Tarth, and he was looking at her with an expression of gentle awe that felt as familiar to her as her own plain face. It was how he'd looked at her after he'd knighted her back in Winterfell. 

He had been dead yesterday, he couldn't suddenly be alive today. Yet here he was, taking another step nearer, moving his lips with no sound as though he struggled for words. She thought for a moment he must be a ghost, wanted to laugh and cry at how much she hated and treasured the idea of him following her around til the end of her days, until he finally seemed to find his voice. 

“Hello,” he said simply, swallowing hard. 

Brienne gasped, his voice breaking her free from her frozen disbelief. “ _Jaime_?”

He smiled, not the confident, wicked grin she remembered but something so true it made her heart hurt. “I found you. I'm sorry it took me so long.”

“How are you here?” she whispered, her hands flexing, grasping at thin air. 

“Luck,” he said. “Though Tyrion thinks it was the gods.” 

Her conversation that afternoon with Tyrion suddenly came into sharp relief. “He knows,” she said, not needing to ask the question. 

Jaime answered anyway. “He does. He and Bronn saved me, after the Keep fell.” 

“Bronn knows, too?” That hurt, though she knew it was foolish to feel so. “Who else have you told before you came to me?”

Jaime shifted, looking uneasy. He was still ten feet away and not moving any closer. “Davos put me up at his castle to heal, and Bran knows, and Podrick.”

“ _Podrick?_ ” Brienne said, her voice going high. 

“I didn't intend for him to find out, it was an accident. I made them all swear not to tell you.”

“You made them swear,” she repeated, still dumbfounded. “Why?”

He took another step nearer then and she held her hands up to stop him. His face dropped, crestfallen, but he halted. “Because you should find out from me. It was the right thing to do.” 

The words snapped something deep in her heart she hadn't even known she had caged, and she was suddenly consumed with fury at him. She felt it wash through her, knew her face was going an ugly red and didn't care as she stalked nearer. “The right thing to do,” she spit out, stopping only a foot away. “Now you care about what's right for me?” 

“No,” he said, his brows furrowed and then, abruptly, “I mean yes! I mean- gods,” Jaime shook his head. “Everything I did, I did for you.” 

Brienne laughed in his face, a dark and bitter sound, and he flinched as though she had struck him. “You're lying. To me and to yourself. You always have.” 

“No,” he rasped. “I never lied to you, not ever.”

She wanted to believe him, even now, even when her blood felt like it was burning all the good things inside of her into ash. “Why did you come here,” she asked, “when you were so quick to leave me before?”

Jaime's mouth open and closed, and he started to reach for her, then dropped his hand to his side. “Cersei is dead, and I thought-”

Brienne shoved him, hard enough to send him crashing back against a nearby tree, and she stormed out of the grove, her rage turning to tears, praying he wouldn't follow.

**********

It had gone somehow even worse than he'd imagined, and he knew he was entirely to blame for it.

Jaime's whole body hurt from his collision with the tree, and he gasped for air even as he wrestled with whether he should follow her. His first thought was to run after her, wrap her in his arms and let her struggle and cry until she was ready to listen, but Brienne was not his sister and he knew enough to not try that, at least. 

Gods why had he mentioned Cersei first? Why hadn't he just said “because I love you, Brienne of Tarth” and not made her cry like that? When he'd ridden away from Winterfell, her sobs had followed him and he'd sworn that if he somehow lived he'd never cause Brienne that kind of pain again. Yet here he was, months later and breaking another of a hundred vows. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck!”

He heard footsteps and was unsurprised when Tyrion walked in. “So,” his brother said. “You're here alone.”

“Don't act like you weren't spying on us,” Jaime said tiredly. 

“If I had known you were going to fuck it up that badly, I would have insisted you let me tell her.”

Jaime sat down on a low wall and put his head in his hand. “She'll never forgive me now.”

“It has become a bit harder, I'll grant you.” Tyrion patted his knee. “But you'll have many opportunities to try seeing as you're both on the small council.”

Jaime groaned. “Bran-”

“King Bran,” Tyrion reminded him.

“Perhaps he'll release me from my position if I swear to disappear and never return.”

“You'd give her up because of one bad encounter?”

“I was thinking it would be easier on us both if I walked into the ocean and let the krakens take me.”

Tyrion cleared his throat and Jaime looked at him, was surprised at the serious cast of his features. “The best things are worth fighting for, Jaime. You've fought hundreds of times for a treasure less valuable. Isn't someone like this worth the struggle?”

“You've gotten wiser,” Jaime said after a moment. 

“All of this shit had to be good for something.” Tyrion patted his knee again and Jaime stood, slowly, groaning a little at the ache in his collarbone. He hoped he hadn't somehow re-injured it. Tyrion tilted his head and smiled slyly. “Next time, though, perhaps you should be wearing armor.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Jaime saw her was at the small council the next day. He was hovering near a corner when Brienne walked in, her brow creased in confusion.

“Is there an emergency, Lord Hand?” she'd asked, taking her seat. “It is uncommon to meet so frequently.” Jaime knew she must be annoyed at the petty bureaucracy of council work, was dreading the idea they might meet every day. His lady knight would rather do the straightforward work of leading and training the men then the petty bickering he remembered from his own brief time as Lord Commander. 

“I wished to introduce our new Master of Laws,” Tyrion said, gesturing to Jaime. When Jaime stepped out of his hiding place, he heard Samwell Tarly gasp “well I'll be!” but his attention was only for Brienne. Her eyes, as deep and blue as he remembered from his dreams, were a frenzy of emotion: shock, anger, and – gods he prayed that he wasn't misunderstanding – something that could almost be hope. 

“Jaime Lannister!” Samwell said, standing. “You're alive! I can't believe it!” Tarly looked around at the rest of the council, who all remained seated and unimpressed by a dead man suddenly before them. “Seems I'm the only one who didn't know,” Samwell said, sitting slowly back down. 

“I appreciate the welcome,” Jaime said, taking the seat across from Brienne for now. He thought it would be too dangerous still to sit next to her. She was honorable, but she might find reason to use her armored elbow on him if he were too near. 

“Why him?” she said, her voice dull with repressed anger. 

“The King requested it,” Tyrion said. “And we serve at His Grace's pleasure.” 

Brienne's eyes flicked Jaime's way briefly, and then away before he could even smile at her. “Let's get on with it, then,” she said.

Bronn snickered, although the glare Brienne sent his way had him coughing to cover it. “Shall we talk the plan for new brothels?”

Jaime tuned out their discussion, staring at Brienne and trying to read every line of her expressive face. He was swamped with memories of her: her disgusted sneer when they'd first traveled together; her quiet pride when they'd said their goodbyes at Harrenhal; her anguish when they'd met at Riverrun and she'd said she would be compelled by honor to fight against him. The way her hair curled around her ear when she woke in the morning. How her lips parted on a sigh when he kissed her belly. The way she smelled and tasted and moaned in the night. 

He dug his nails into his palm, trying to distract himself. It would do no good to get so caught up in the past that he embarrassed himself in the present. They were wrapping up the meeting and Brienne was already on her feet. He saw the lion's head of Oathkeeper at her side and felt light-headed. Jaime stood so quickly everyone looked his way. 

“Ser,” he said, unsure of himself. “Might I have a word?”

“No,” she said, walking away. 

Davos whistled low as she disappeared through the door. “You've got your work cut out for you there, lad.”

**********

Brienne kept busy that afternoon and skipped her time at the godswood in case Jaime followed her there. She thought she caught him watching their drilling that afternoon, but when she turned to glare at him, it seemed she'd been tricked by the sun glinting gold off of a discarded shield.

After she'd left Jaime in the grove yesterday she had escaped to her room in the White Tower, collapsing on the bed in a heap of fresh tears. She had vowed not to cry over Jaime Lannister ever again after news he had died, but that was before he had appeared before her, a ghost made real. 

Gods she had wanted to touch him, to feel the wiry brush of his beard against her palms, the surprising softness of his lips against her neck. Until he'd mentioned Cersei, and all her hopes had fallen as surely as the Red Keep itself. 

He'd come because Cersei was dead and now he would settle for Brienne. She had believed deep down that he'd left driven by some dark compulsion, that if Cersei had surrendered Jaime would have stayed with Brienne in Winterfell. But she couldn't ignore his own admission. 

_Half-admission_ , she thought. She had shoved him before he could finish what he'd started to say. It was safer that way, better not to suffer hearing what she already knew must be true. 

But she had felt his eyes on her the whole council, had allowed herself to look at him for the briefest of moments and was struck by the yearning in his face. What game was he playing at? Did he think she was so desperate to have him back that she didn't care why he was here? 

She was Lady Commander of the Kingsguard now, she did not have room in her life for Jaime Lannister and her cascade of feelings for him. Taking her oath to King Bran meant she had sliced clean her dreams of a settled life as the Evenstar of Tarth. He had been a Kingsguard himself, he knew what her position meant. What could he possibly expect to happen, even if she did forgive him? 

Brienne retired early to her room that evening, taking a cold meal alone by the fire. She had her duties to the king early tomorrow morning and Jaime seemed to have taken her no at face value for today. She would get a good night's sleep and remind herself as many times as she needed in the morning that she had made this choice and was grateful for the honor. 

Still, that night she dreamed of the green forests of Tarth thrust tall against the sapphire blue of the ocean.

**********

Brienne managed to avoid him for two whole days before Jaime couldn't take it anymore. She had stopped going to the godswood in the afternoons and she never ate near the great hall. Desperate just to see her, Jaime begged Tyrion to call another small council.

“No,” Tyrion said. “We're not due for a few more days. There's nothing to talk about.”

“There's plenty to talk about. What about cleanup of the lower parts of King's Landing? You saw what it was like out there still.”

“Bronn will just want to put in more brothels.”

“Fuck Bronn's brothels. Talk about the status of the ship-building then. Talk about whether these signs are of a true spring or a false one. Talk about how many times a day our king takes a shit. Talk about anything! Just call a meeting!”

Tyrion called a meeting that afternoon. 

Jaime was there early, hovering in the hall, waiting for Brienne. He heard the clank of her armor first and straightened, smoothing down his clothes. The days between had given him time to get ones made that suited him better, and he was wearing a Lannister red jerkin today with hints of blue threaded through the shirt underneath. She turned the corner and he saw her step momentarily falter before she picked up again, her long legs eating up the ground. He fell into step beside her, had to push to keep up. 

“Lady Commander,” he said in greeting. She continued to walk. “Congratulations, by the way. I didn't get to tell you that yet.”

Brienne's pace slowed a little. “Thank you,” she said, still not looking at him. He knew she couldn't bring herself to be impolite, even to him. “Congratulations to you,” she added. 

“I'm more proud of being alive still, but thank you.” 

She rolled her eyes and his heart beat harder with hope. If she were immovable, she would have treated him like he did not even exist. Even anger was better than nothingness. 

They were at the door to the council room too soon, but he didn't know how to stop her so he sat down across from her again and stared while they conducted the flimsy excuse for council business that Tyrion had come up with. When the council was done she fled as quickly as the first time, Jaime only watching her leave. 

Tarly came up to him as the the others left as well. “How are you enjoying being alive?” he asked, his round face gently smiling. 

“It's harder and more beautiful than I remember it,” Jaime said, glancing back to where Brienne had disappeared. He felt Tarly nod next to him. 

“Worth it, though,” he sighed. “Gilly is due soon and I'm scared out of my mind even though we have little Sam already and I know how wonderful it will be.”

Unexpected, Jaime imagined Brienne holding a golden haired baby with bright blue eyes, snuggling the soft fuzz on its head – a girl, Jaime pictured, she would have a baby girl who would grow to be as true and kind as her mother, with the irreverent grin of her father. The longing for it weakened him, so that Jaime had to steady himself on the back of his chair. It had all been in his reach at Winterfell when they'd been together and happy. And now Brienne was Lady Commander, sworn only to the King, and she couldn't look at him, could barely be in the same room. 

“Anyway,” Tarly said uncertainly. “We're glad to have you on the council. Well, I'm glad. I'm sure your brother is as well, and Ser Bronn and Ser Davos.”

“The Lady Commander is not,” Jaime said, soft and sharp.

“Er, no, she doesn't appear to be.” 

Jaime could feel the curious questions Tarly barely held back and realized he didn't want to talk about it any more; he didn't want to think of all that he had lost because he'd hated himself more than he'd loved Brienne. 

“Until later, Grand Maester,” he said, bidding Tarly farewell to escape to his room and be alone with his despair.


	9. Chapter 9

They had another council meeting three days later. Brienne sighed, aggrieved, when the young page had brought her word. She was standing guard outside of King Bran's room while he disappeared to wherever he went as the Three-Eyed Raven.

“Another one?” she griped, and the boy had only shrugged and scrambled away again. 

When she headed for the council chambers that afternoon she was unsurprised to find Jaime waiting for her, this time even sooner down the hall. She lengthened her stride but he kept up easily. 

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said. “A fine spring day today, wouldn't you say?”

Brienne ignored him. 

“This may be real spring, which would be quite a surprise after all of the Starks' dire warnings of a long winter.”

“They meant the White Walkers,” Brienne said, driven to defend the family to whom she'd sworn so many oaths. 

“Winter is coming,” Jaime said in a gravelly voice, clearly mocking. She glared at him, and he smiled that familiar, tender smile from their time at Winterfell, smoothing the edge of his teasing. She sighed and quickly looked away again, grateful the hall was short. 

“Why have you called another council?” Brienne demanded of Tyrion when she stormed in. The man blinked, startled. 

“We have work to do.”

“Yes, work that is not sitting on this council and arguing about how to spend coin we don't have.”

“You don't know we don't have it,” Bronn said as he sauntered in. “But she's right, why are we here again? Is this your doing, Lannister?” That was directed to Jaime. 

“We need to talk about whether this is a true or false spring,” Tyrion said, gesturing at Samwell Tarly who bustled in, red-faced. “It will change how we apportion our food stores. Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Grand Maester.”

Tarly, panting, collapsed in his chair with a stack of books and nodded. “I've brought research,” he wheezed, “just a moment. I had to run to make it in time.” 

She could feel Jaime staring at her, as he had done at the two councils prior. “Ser Davos,” she said instead. “How goes the ship-building?”

They talked of ships for a bit and Brienne found herself interested in the intricacies of planning for them. Ships were an art on Tarth, and she'd spent time in her childhood staring out at the different kinds that would pull into port, cataloging them, wondering about the adventures their crews were having. She had dreamed of her own adventures, too, though she knew a girl as awkward and ugly as she was would never command men's loyalty out of love. So she'd learned to fight instead, and now she was here on the king's small council while Samwell Tarly explained how spring had likely come. 

The air had turned sweeter, Brienne had noticed, the sun a bit warmer. The trees seemed like they were gathering themselves, waiting for the right moment to bloom. It was coincidence that Jaime had returned in spring, come back from the dark of winter as surely as the flowers. 

She allowed herself to look at him as he actively engaged Tarly in a discussion on food stores and whether they could expect any more hard frosts that might ruin plantings. He was dressed richly but simply, mostly in deep browns today, though she noticed a line of sapphire blue running along the neck of his shirt. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed, his green eyes bright and interested. Jaime had shown that same interest in Winterfell when she'd talked to him about the repairs Sansa had had her oversee, the training of the men who remained behind. He'd asked thoughtful questions and provided good advice when she asked for it. He'd been trained from birth to someday be Lord of Casterly Rock, and she could see how good at it he could have been. 

When Tarly turned his questions to Bronn to ask about funds to restore the fields nearest King's Landing, Jaime looked at Brienne, blinking when he caught her watching him. The keen interest on his face transformed into something tremulous and sweet and he smiled tentatively. Since he'd ridden away from Winterfell she had secretly wished for him to return, had told herself it wouldn't matter why as long as he was with her. But it did matter, she realized. It mattered now more than ever, when she had dedicated everything she was to her oaths. 

Brienne looked down at her hands and pulled those oaths around herself as protection, waiting for the meeting to end.

**********

The meetings became more frequent. Two days later there was another, this one considering the Iron Islands and how best to keep them bound to the throne. Two days after that they talked of restoring the dungeons and how best to mete out justice. There was another meeting the day after that and the day after that and the day after that. Each time Jaime met her in the hall, talked at her while Brienne did her best to ignore him, and then she would watch him from the corner of her eye while he engaged in the business of the small council.

She engaged with the council as well, felt a warm pride when the others listened and considered her words, countered her in discussions and sought out her input. Jaime would always include her, no matter the subject. 

“What do you think of focusing on hardy grains first, Lady Commander?” he would say. 

Or “I think a mix of warships and fast schooners to get us started makes sense, would you agree, Lady Commander?”

And “the Lady Commander taught me the power of justice wielded kindly, I believe we should get her thoughts on this.” Then he would smile encouragingly at her, holding the space open for her to speak. 

She started going back to the godswood a little over a week after Jaime had showed himself the first time and discovered she was disappointed to be left alone. Jaime only talked to her before and during the council, and even when she took her time leaving, he would only bid her good day and let her be. 

One night after more than two weeks of this she sat in the hall with the Kingsguard having dinner, and was annoyed when Jaime greeted her with that sweet, special smile but then left her with her men to go sit with Tyrion and Bronn. 

“Everything all right, ser?” Podrick asked her from across the table. 

She glanced at him and shrugged. “Have you spoken with Ser Jaime since he returned?”

“A time or two. I try to avoid him mostly.” 

“Why?”

Pod frowned, leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Because he hurt you, my lady, and my loyalty is to you.” 

“Podrick,” she said, touched. “You don't have to hate him because you think I do.”

“I hate him because of what he did to you,” Pod said fiercely. “But...do you not hate him?”

Brienne looked across the hall at Jaime and wondered that herself. The anger she'd felt that first day had dissipated under Jaime's steadfast, admiring gaze; she had not yet discerned what had replaced it. “I don't know what I feel,” she admitted to her friend. 

Pod looked over his shoulder at Jaime, then back to Brienne. “Has he apologized?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Though I have tried to avoid him myself.” 

Jaime must have felt them looking because he glanced up, the smirk he had for Tyrion freezing and slowly slipping into a guarded smile. 

“You don't have to talk to him,” Pod said, and when she glanced at Podrick, his gaze was thoughtful. “But you look like you want to. And so does he.” 

Pod went back to his stew, dipping his crusty bread in and slurping it loudly while Brienne wondered whether she was brave enough to let Jaime Lannister back into her life.

**********

Tyrion reduced the councils back to every other day and it took three more before Brienne responded to Jaime's greeting. He heard her coming as usual from his spot in the hall and he fell into step beside her. She had started moving at a more normal pace this past week at least, had even nodded her head silently at him last time. So he was unsurprised, though still elated, when she returned his “good afternoon, Lady Commander,” with “good afternoon, ser.”

“I hope your day has gone well,” he said, stumbling for what to say now that she was talking to him.

“Well enough,” she said. 

They were nearing the doors to the council room and he felt anxious, rushed. “I hope you enjoy the council,” he said weakly as they stepped through. Brienne looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Thank you?” 

She took her regular seat and Jaime sat across from her and barely kept from banging his head into the table in frustration as Tyrion led the council in a discussion of trade with the North.

*********

Two days later he was walking with her in the hall again, having exchanged greetings, when she noticeably slowed and said, “what do you do all day?” in a voice that was half accusatory and half genuinely curious.

“Pardon, my lady?”

Brienne stopped and turned to face him. “I only see you at the councils, and sometimes for supper. Where are you the rest of the time?”

In truth he spent good portions of his time in his room, thinking about her and waiting for the next small council meeting when he could see her again. “I am about,” he told her. “Keeping to myself for the most part. Lannisters are only slightly more well-regarded here than Targaryens and that's mostly thanks to Tyrion.” 

“He makes a good Hand,” she conceded. They stared at each other from only a few feet apart and he wondered what she would do if he kissed her. He ached to do it, to feel her as eager as she'd been in Winterfell. 

“We'll be late,” she said softly, blinking and continuing onward. He felt stuck in place and she looked back as she neared the door to the council. “Are you coming or are you going to just gawk outside?” she asked in an annoyed tone he treasured more than any jewel. 

Jaime hurried after her, not caring that his smile was embarrassingly big. He considered sitting down next to her, but truth be told he liked being able to watch her as she bantered with the others, so he took his regular seat across the table and when she said “glad you remembered how your legs work” he felt like he was alive again for the first time since he'd awoke covered in rubble.


	10. Chapter 10

Brienne began to look forward to their walks to the council room together, brief as they were. They felt safe, but pleasant. Jaime would greet her politely and she would find some way to mock him, and every time his eyes would brighten with eager delight. 

“Good afternoon, Ser Brienne,” he said to her one afternoon, and she slowed and said, “I hope you have re-thought your suggestion of the gift for the prince of Dorne's upcoming wedding. You've the instincts of a dull goose.” 

He'd laughed so loudly down the hall that Bronn was glaring when they stepped in. 

Two days later she turned the corner and she saw he was wearing as a cape the hideous tapestry he'd suggested they take from the throne room to repurpose for the Dornish wedding gift. He preened and swept the tapestry grandly as though he wore wings of ugly and tattered feathers and this time Brienne laughed so long they had to hold up the start of the meeting for her to regain herself. 

The rest of her days she kept busy with Kingsguard duties, of which there were a steady stream, but she spent her dedicated time to herself wandering the grounds more than lingering by the godswood, wondering if she would run into Jaime. One day as she stood on the battlements and watched him talking with one of the representatives they were sending to Dorne with the final gift of spiced meats and an intact dragon skull painted in House Martell's colors, Podrick appeared next to her. 

“Ser Jaime has asked to spar with me,” he said, watching him, too. 

“Do you wish to?”

“Only if you're alright with it.”

“Of course I am,” she said immediately, and she caught his small smile when she glanced his way. “What?”

“Nothing, ser,” he said, looking up at her and badly hiding his smile. “Just glad to hear it.” 

Jaime finished whatever he was talking of and then looked around, scratching his beard. “Ser Jaime!” Pod shouted and Brienne's eyes widened. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. Jaime looked about and up, finally saw Pod waving at him and waved back. He inclined his head towards Brienne and she felt the same electric shiver she always did when he turned his attention just to her. It would have been easier to hate him, but she was nowhere near that feeling anymore. All she had was the confusing swamp she was lost in, tugged in every direction by warm memories and cold hurt and the unsteady foundation of whatever they were building now. 

“Just saying hi,” Pod said smugly, leaving Brienne alone to hold Jaime's stare across the yard.

**********

One afternoon, when rain poured down and cleansed the still-recovering city of the last of the ash piles, Jaime headed to his regular rendezvous point in the hallway only to find Brienne already there. She was standing tall, chin held high, but when she saw him she chewed her bottom lip and fluttered her hands from the hilt of Oathkeeper to her sword buckle and back again.

“Good afternoon, Ser Jaime,” she said. 

He was struck by the sight of her, the proud warrior and nervous maid combined in a quality that was so uniquely her he could cry for seeing it. 

“Good afternoon, ser,” he managed. “You have the better of me today.” 

“I always have the better of you,” she replied and he felt his face stretch wide with his smile. She clasped her hands behind her back. “How does your training with Pod go?”

“Ser Podrick has gotten even better than I remember, or I've just gotten noticeably worse. Perhaps both. I can lift a sword all the way up now, though, and not feel pain.”

“That's good,” Brienne said. “Your wounds must have been grievous.”

They had both stayed firmly away from talking about anything prior to Bran's coronation and Brienne bringing this up felt dangerous and hopeful. “They were,” he said cautiously. 

Her eyes were too open, her face too easy to read. He couldn't bear seeing all the things she wanted to say and her tucking them away instead. “Might I ask you a more personal question, ser?” she allowed herself.

“Of course,” he said swiftly. They were alone in the hall, separated only by a few feet and the space between Winterfell and this moment.

“Your hand. Will you replace it?”

Jaime looked down at his stump. He'd gotten special, ornate leather coverings made for it, with soft fur interiors for comfort. “Does it offend you for me to keep it this way?”

“Scars borne honorably could never offend,” she said quietly. 

He dropped his gaze, overcome. He remembered their first night together, when Brienne had so carefully removed his golden hand and set it aside. She'd taken his stump and pressed it between her small breasts like she was pulling him into her heart. Never once in all their time together, from the moment they'd cut the damn thing off to now, had she looked at him like he was broken because of it. 

“Perhaps someday,” he said. “The golden hand was an anchor. I am lighter without it.” 

She nodded and in those damnable eyes he saw that she understood.

**********

That evening at supper, his heart thudding loudly in his ears, Jaime brought his meal to where Podrick and Brienne sat in a lively conversation. When he stopped in front of them, they went silent and looked up.

Jaime swallowed, took in their expectant faces, and swallowed again. “Good evening sers,” he managed. “Might I sit with you?”

Podrick and Brienne exchanged a look and then Brienne nodded. “If you wish.” 

He sat down next to Podrick, his bowl clanking loudly in his relief. He took a bite of his food but tasted none of it. Since Brienne had shoved him away in the grove, Jaime had tried to give her space, only pushing it at the small councils when he hoped she wouldn't feel like he was overly encroaching. The hallway greetings had been a risk, but he'd been desperate to talk to her even if it had ended with another shove or worse. Being welcome at her table now felt like he'd summited a mountain. 

“How do you like being a Kingsguard, ser?” he directed to Podrick. 

Pod glanced at Brienne and then turned to Jaime. “It's a great honor,” he said, “and King Bran doesn't ask much of us beyond pushing him places he needs to be. Brienne,” Jaime lifted a brow and Pod blushed, “I mean Ser Brienne is an excellent Commander.”

Jaime looked at her in time to watch the flush creep over her face. “I've given him leave to refer to me as Brienne when we're relaxing,” she said. 

“Magnanimous of you,” Jaime said, amused. 

She shook her head, but he was certain he saw the faint hint of a smile. “I imagine you were not so generous when you were Lord Commander,” she said primly. 

“Oh no, I was a terrible bastard then. Made the men piss where they stood when they were on duty.” Podrick looked so scandalized that Jaime laughed a little. “I jest,” Jaime said. “But I was not the Commander Ser Brienne is, I am certain.” 

“I have only just started my service,” she demurred, but he knew her well enough to catch the way her eyes flicked down and crinkled at the corners with pride. 

“So tell me, Ser Podrick, what's your least favorite part of being in the Kingsguard?”

Pod looked to Brienne for reassurance he could answer the question honestly and she sighed but nodded. “Not being able to drink,” Pod confided. 

Jaime's brow wrinkled. “You can drink as a Kingsguard.”

“Well,” Pod hesitated, studiously not looking at Brienne this time and Jaime laughed out loud. 

“I see,” he said, grinning. “Seems your Commander is a bit more buttoned down than most.”

“We are the guardians of the King, it is improper for us to be drinking when we could be called to duty at any moment,” Brienne said firmly. 

“Don't want to have too much ale and misplace him,” Jaime teased and was rewarded with Brienne's narrowed glare of annoyance. Pod coughed into his hand in what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. 

“What about you, ser?” Podrick asked. “What was your least favorite part?”

Jaime thought of Aerys burning his enemies and the way they screamed as they died, and his appetite deserted him entirely. He didn't know how to answer the question in a way that wouldn't ruin the tentative good nature of the moment. 

“He hated the armor,” Brienne said, saving him. “He always said the gold distracted people from his handsomeness. Which is clearly untrue as he was never that handsome.”

While Podrick laughed, Jaime looked gratefully at her, undone by the small kindness, and her nod of understanding seemed to shift the world under his feet, the last ice between them cracking and breaking away. Podrick launched into a story about Tyrion trying to get him to go around Brienne's edicts and Jaime listened, smiling, interjecting small quips while his heart unspooled inside him. 

Gods, Jaime had missed this easy banter between them; how Podrick always seemed happy just to be included, how Brienne's beautifully plain face showed every last emotion she felt – and she felt so many of them watching her was a constant delight. They had had many moments like this in Winterfell, though Cersei had been a relentless pressure at the back of his mind trying to shout through the pleasant hum. But all he felt of her now was a pained regret that his twin would not have this chance herself, had seemed to have so few chances for it even when she was alive. 

Watching the way Brienne tried desperately not to smile at Podrick, who was openly laughing now in good cheer, Jaime knew even if Cersei had lived, he would still choose to be here a thousand times over, whether Brienne ever fully forgave him or not. He wouldn't choose anyone over Brienne and the reality of it made it suddenly impossible to sit here without telling her so. He just needed her to hear him. 

“This is why Ser Jaime shall not be invited back to the Kingsguard,” Brienne was saying, struggling and failing to sound serious. 

“I wouldn't want you to be my Commander,” he said intently and Brienne's eyes went dark and sharp with hurt. _Shit_ , he thought as she set her spoon down and made ready to stand. He felt Podrick watching them. “Wait, I didn't mean-”

“You do not have to explain yourself, ser.”

“No, I fucking well do,” he said heatedly, not caring about the looks from those seated near them. “So stay here and let me say it.”

Brienne blinked at him, her blue eyes wide and wounded, but she remained. Podrick was staring down at his empty dish like he could disappear into it, and Jaime wished briefly he could join him. But he took a breath and kept his gaze firmly on Brienne.

“You will be one of the greatest Commanders in history,” Jaime started. “Any decent knight would be honored to serve under you.” Next to him, Podrick nodded in agreement. 

“And you are not a decent knight, is that what you're saying?” she asked between clenched teeth. 

“My decency is a subject for another time. What I am saying, Ser Brienne, is that I don't wish to be under you because you're my Commander. I wish to be under you for other reasons.” He knew it was too much too soon, but he was unable to restrain his words. He had to make her understand that he came back for her and her alone. 

He watched the full meaning of his words sink in slowly and then all at once, noted how her lips parted breathlessly, how her whole face went red in the candlelight, how her eyes became deep wells of desire shot through with disbelief. Next to him Podrick shifted uncomfortably, mumbled something, and turned desperately to the man next to him to talk. 

“Don't,” she said.

“Why not?” he whispered. “It's true.”

“The dining hall is not appropriate,” she said, glancing around them. 

“Then come with me somewhere, anywhere else. I have much I need to tell you,” he said in a low voice. If he'd had any pride left he would be embarrassed about throwing himself at her feet in the open like this, but his pride didn't matter when she was near enough he could touch her yet he wasn't sure if she truly wanted him to anymore.

“Jaime,” she said in a throaty whisper. He grabbed the edge of the table tightly. 

“Please,” he begged. “Just hear me out.” 

“You wouldn't even be here if Cersei hadn't died.” She looked so hurt he felt a fresh wave of shame roll through him. Her light hadn't dimmed, but he'd left a wound that would take time and great care to heal. 

The clank of bowls and chatter of the men around them faded to the background as Jaime leaned closer over the table. “Perhaps. And I would be cursing myself and my miserable existence every day I was away from you.”

“No,” Brienne said, licking her lips. “No, you left me for her.”

“I did,” he said, and covered her hand before she could think to pull back. Touching her again was like holding lightning. “But not why you think. I left you because she was my sister. Because I couldn't understand why you would let a man as soiled as me in your bed even once. Because if I left before you realized the mistake you'd made, I thought it would hurt less and I am selfish on top of all my other sins.” He rubbed his thumb over her thick and scarred knuckles and he saw her shiver. There were too many people in this room and he wished they were somewhere else, but he couldn't let her leave here believing for one more day that she had been a lesser choice. “If I were a good man, I still would have gone because she was my family, but I would not have left you doubting my feelings for you. I came back so you would know, Brienne.” 

“Know what?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the laughter and loud conversation in the dining hall. Podrick and the other men near them had all vacated to other parts of the room and they were secluded at their table. It was not the place Jaime had envisioned this conversation, but he so rarely got what he thought he wanted. 

“I rode away from Winterfell thinking I would never see you again, and I thought of you every day after. I came back from certain death and have thought of you every day since. I left, but I have been in our bed in Winterfell in all of my dreams.” She was as still as a statue, but he felt her pulse pounding in the tender skin along the top of her hand. “Even at the end,” he whispered. “I thought of you and wished for just this. A chance to make things right, to ask for what a man such as I does not deserve. I came to apologize for being a fool, for hurting the best person I have ever known and then I would move on if I must, but I can't even do that. I don't wish to simply greet you in hallways for the rest of my life.”

It was quiet for a moment, the words of his heart thick in the air between them. 

“I am Commander of the Kingsguard,” she said as though it would change his mind. He smiled a little. 

“The Kingsguard cannot marry or hold lands or have children. The rest they are noticeably silent about.”

Brienne pulled her hand away and he let it go, but his fingers felt the lack of contact like an ache. “I should go,” she said quietly, not looking at him. She stood and he scrambled to his feet. “Good night, Ser Jaime.” 

“Good night, Brienne,” he murmured, watching her leave. Unlike the celebration in Winterfell, this time she didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized I was going to have to skip a couple of days before I could post the last chapter if I didn't move it up a day, so posting two chapters today to keep on the schedule. :)


	11. Chapter 11

The next day Brienne received word that Tyrion and a small retinue would be away from King's Landing for a week, traveling to some of the smaller towns nearby to share recent edicts and reach out on King Bran's behalf. There would be no small councils while he was gone as they had all discovered the King had no interest in the minutiae of ruling. Occasionally Podrick would wheel Bran in for a few minutes to hear updates, and then Bran would ask to leave again, his mind already a hundred leagues away. 

One morning as she helped the king ready for the day, she had cautiously asked him why he let them meet with so little oversight. Bran had blinked and smiled up at her, looking genuinely amused. 

“Six minds are more effective than one, ser,” he'd said and that had made sense to her. It helped that she knew Tyrion reported to him after every council and had brought Bran's disagreements forward after, even if they were disagreeing with Tyrion himself. A trusted Hand and a committee that worked well together were a good match for a king who preferred to see things from where the crow flies, so she let the issue lie, appeased.

What she could not leave alone were Jaime's words over dinner. If he meant them, then everything she thought she knew about the world, about herself, would be upended. Men did not choose women like her over the beautiful lovers they had had all their lives, the woman who had fathered their only children. For all her ferocious hope otherwise, she had known that even during their time in Winterfell; had clung to what they had fearing it could not last. Jaime's departure had been heartbreaking partially because it had proven her dark worries right. She did not doubt he cared for her, felt special enough to be the only other woman he had ever given himself to besides Cersei. But when it came down to a choice, she had known he would choose his twin. 

And now Cersei was gone and he had returned to Brienne, and she'd assumed he was settling. But Jaime's own words said being here with her was a gift and not a consolation. A second chance, he had said, to fix a terrible mistake. That he would have chosen her anyway, even if Cersei had lived. 

_If_ he was telling her true; _if_ she could trust the scarred softness of her heart in his hands one more time. 

She thought of how he'd looked, the set of his sharp jaw softened by the thinly trimmed beard, his eyes so desperate and hopeful, laying him bare. Jaime had done many awful things, but he was right: he had never lied, not to her. What good would it do him to lie to her now, when she was Commander of the Kingsguard and could give him nothing but herself? 

Brienne had been so sure she would never see Jaime again and yet she had yearned for it, as she'd yearned for so many out-of-reach dreams. Dreams that had seemed so far away and still she had seen them come true. She brushed her fingers over Oathkeeper's shining hilt. Did she dare step now onto the most terrifying path of all? It would either give her everything her heart had ever longed for – to be honored knight and woman both – or take the last of her dearest dreams away. 

The memory of the day she had requested Jaime be allowed to stay at Winterfell rose up. He had wanted to ask himself, but she'd thought it better if the request come from her. Brienne had been so nervous, though whether it was for Sansa to say no or yes, she hadn't been sure. Sansa had been thoughtful, asking intelligent questions around the ultimate truth at the center of it: was Jaime staying to avoid the war, or was he staying for Brienne? Once she had gotten the answer she wanted Sansa had smiled so soft and sad, Brienne's heart wept. “I am happy for you, ser,” Sansa had said. “A woman must fight for what she wants, for the world will never give it to her.” Brienne thought of dancing as a little girl, of swearing herself to Renly, of Jaime staring at her naked in the firelight at Winterfell. 

Hadn't the whole of Brienne's life shown her she could never force her heart to choose the simple path, no matter how much she wished it? She had been a foolish maid since she learned how to dream, driven always by duty and love, and not even war and heartache had ripped that from her. 

Heart pounding, soaring and terrified, Brienne roamed the Red Keep looking for Jaime, realized she didn't know if he even lived here or not. She had assumed he did, but as only a council member he was not required to. She went in search of Podrick and found him talking with Bronn. 

“Pardon me,” she said, interrupting their conversation. 

“Yes, Lady Commander?” Podrick said, standing straight. 

Brienne glanced briefly at Bronn and then decided he may know even better than Pod. “I am looking for Ser Jaime, do you know if he resides here at the Keep?”

“You don't know?” Bronn said, frowning. “I thought you were fucking him again.”

“I beg your pardon?” Brienne gaped. 

“He wouldn't shut up about you when he was unconscious, or even after he was up and about. Tyrion told him to stay at Cape Wrath where he'd be safe but he refused, I assumed to get back into your trousers. Now that you're flirting with him again I thought you were fucking.”

Brienne was certain her face might light on fire with how hot it was. 

“I don't flirt,” she said weakly. 

“All that piss-taking is just you being normal, then?” Bronn lifted a single, eloquent eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“He does have a room here,” Podrick jumped in, glaring at Bronn. “But he's not here today, my lady. He went out to the city for awhile, said he'd be back later this evening.”

“I see,” she said, still feeling her face aflame. 

“Is everything all right?” Podrick asked. 

They both looked at Bronn, who shrugged. “I know when I'm not wanted,” he said, sauntering away. 

When they were alone, Brienne turned to her friend. “Everything is...complicated.”

“That's life, isn't it?” he said, smiling softly. 

“Not my life. Not until-” she pressed her lips together. Not until Jaime had entered it and annoyed his way into her heart, even back then. Her life had been all about duty and honor but everything had changed once Lady Catelyn had sent her away with him. “Do you trust him?” Brienne asked barely above a whisper. 

“Yes.” Pod said. “More importantly, I trust him with you.” 

“A Kingsguard-”

“Is a person. You didn't take a vow to avoid feelings, Brienne,” he said in a gently chiding tone. 

She peered at him. “How did you become such a good man, Podrick?”

“I squired for an excellent knight.” He beamed at her and she had to blink away tears. She wanted to hug him, but the courtyard was too busy, so she clasped his shoulder warmly and he nodded, patting her hand. 

Buoyed by the strength of Pod's belief and her own heart's desire, Brienne hurried to the White Tower to watch and wait for Jaime's return.

**********

Jaime had told Podrick he was going out into the city, but he went around instead to the entrance to the Red Keep where he'd fought Euron and then through to the depths where he'd almost died. They'd shored up anything that looked dangerous but had left much of the fallen detritus. He could tell where Tyrion had found him and Cersei by the blood-stained stones. Their blood had dried to almost black, and in the dim light it looked like someone had spilled ink all over, writing their lives here in the rubble.

He crouched and pressed his fingers to it. “I hope you're at peace,” he murmured, fighting back tears. He missed Cersei, but not because he wished he could be with her again. He missed the sister he'd laughed and played with as a young boy, before their mother had died and her heart had started to twist and he could never set it straight again no matter how much he loved her. Jaime sat back on his heels and looked around, saw the large, curved stone he'd been miraculously saved by and patted it like it was an old friend. Perhaps it was just luck that he had been saved and Cersei had died, but he would do whatever it took to make the most of it. 

After wandering back out to the entrance, Jaime clambered along the rocky shore for awhile, and then did finally go into town without hiding in his hood, the Lannister lions clear on his stump cover. He felt the stares but no animosity behind them, and he made a purchase of a red rose and a white rose – the first signs of spring sent from Highgarden – at a price that didn't feel like the merchant had gouged him just from spite. By the time he returned to his room, gently setting the roses down on the table for the morning, he was feeling hopeful. He'd wanted to give Brienne the day to consider all he'd laid before her last night, but tomorrow he would take her the roses and make his case. 

There was a knock at his door and Jaime looked down at himself in trousers and no tunic and shrugged. It was likely Bronn or Tyrion and they'd both seen him in far less. But when he opened the door what greeted him were blue eyes wide as the moon in a pale, worried face. 

She chewed her full lower lip and stared at him so intently he was certain she could see to his tattered soul. “You didn't apologize,” Brienne said. 

“I'm sorry,” he said immediately. “I'm sorry I treated you like anything less than the wonder you are. I have been sorry since the courtyard in Winterfell, and probably before and definitely after and will be every day for the rest of my life.” 

“Tell me again why you're here.”

His breath caught for a moment. A second chance. “Because I love you, Ser Brienne of Tarth.” 

She nodded and in the lamplight her eyes were glistening with tears. They stood in silence until she exhaled, shaky and soft. “Invite me in.”

Jaime stepped aside and gestured with a hand that only trembled a little and shut the door once she'd moved past. Brienne kept her back to him and he watched her broad, muscled shoulders roll under the thin linen of her shirt before she turned, her face set with determination before stepping near and kissing him. It wasn't sweet, it was desperate, searching for the truth of his feelings, and he fisted his hand in the back of her shirt to hold on, meeting her need with need, giving her all he was and could ever be. Her palms felt like brands where they pressed against his bare chest.

Brienne broke the kiss first, and her lips were red and wet. They were both panting. 

“Why didn't you say that the first time?” she breathed. 

He shook his head. “I'm an idiot.”

“I've heard that about you.” He laughed a little and she pressed her forehead to his. “I missed you,” she said in a voice sweetly shy and at odds with the ferocity of the kiss. 

“You'll not have a chance to miss me again,” he murmured. 

They didn't speak after that, except in the brush of fingers over eager skin, in the moments when Brienne cried out in his ear or he groaned into her neck and tasted her sweat on his tongue. They rediscovered each other as the night grew late, and Jaime found new strength in her tender heart, shared weakness with her that he had previously held onto with a terrified grip. He felt submerged as if in a beautiful dream, never wishing to wake, and when Brienne's moans turned into urgent, desperate pleas, Jaime pressed his mouth to hers and breathed all of her in as she let go. With her air in his lungs he followed after in a world made only of blue and gold and the endless beating of their hearts.


	12. Chapter 12

Brienne woke first. Jaime's arm was a heavy weight over her stomach and his breath came in slow, steady puffs against her hair. She shifted a tiny amount, enough to be able to turn her head and take him in. There were no lines of worry on his brow, no downward pull of his lips. He looked peaceful and unburdened. 

She traced the length of the forearm resting on her down to the stump, studied it and wondered if everything would have been different if he'd remained the two-handed, golden lion of Casterly Rock, or if they would have always ended up here. Even in Winterfell she would have said the former – that whatever was between them would never have been a match for Cersei – but now she believed it may not be so. They had both survived years of impossibilities to be here together. Surely a hand would not have changed the course of a current so strong. 

When she looked at his face again his eyes were open and happy. 

“Ser Brienne,” he said, and even his voice was smiling. 

“You can just call me Brienne,” she murmured. 

“We are both knights,” he agreed, leaning forward to kiss her. “You do always get the better of me, though.” She felt herself blush and he laughed, delighted. “I didn't mean like that, though that is true, too. What I meant are those.” He indicated the table with his eyes, where two roses lay. 

“They're lovely,” she said. 

“They're for you. I was going to track you down today and woo you with them. All of their thorns have been carefully removed.” He sat up enough to grab the roses and trailed them down between her breasts one at a time as he spoke. “The colors have specific meanings, you know. Red is for desire and love. White for loyalty and new beginnings.” The petals were cool on her swiftly heating skin. “When you give them together, they mean unity.” He left them lying on her chest, watching her carefully. 

“Where did you learn all this?” she asked, uncertain of what else to say. 

He pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing with worry. “Cersei learned it as part of her training to be a lady. She would share what she learned with me and I with her.” 

“I see,” Brienne said, and though it was awkward, she realized the painful knot that had tied itself around even the idea of Cersei in Jaime's life had finally loosened. “I must have missed those lessons in favor of swordsmanship,” she said, smiling a little. 

Jaime kissed her, hard, crushing the petals with the weight of his chest so that when he pulled back the sweet scent of roses rushed between them. He glanced down and laughed ruefully. “I've already ruined the present I got you.” 

“It's all right. You can get me another.” 

“I will get you ten thousand, one for each day I hope to wake like this,” he whispered in her ear.

Brienne reached for him then and the roses fell between them, the perfume rising into the morning with their soft cries.

**********

Afterward, Jaime lay with his head on her chest and she brushed a hand over his hair. He was dragging rose petals across her belly and down her thighs, and it felt like a soft trail of kisses. “You know I cannot marry you,” she said quietly. “Not while I am a Kingsguard.”

“I know.” 

“My oaths are important to me.” 

Jaime shifted, looking up at her. “Do you think I'm asking you to abandon the Kingsguard for me?”

“You said the roses meant love and unity.” 

He lifted up onto his elbow. “I don't need the blessing of the gods to be committed to you,” he said, sounding offended. 

“But what about Casterly Rock and the Lannister heritage?”

“What about Tarth?” he asked gently and she flushed. He pressed his fingers to her cheek, so she was looking at him. “That doesn't matter to me. Tyrion will not remain unmarried forever and even if he never bears children I'm sure he can find some noble's son he trusts to be steward until a suitable Lannister shows their face. What matters to me is you, Brienne, and this. Eating meals with you every day. Listening to you fall asleep at night. Seeing you wake with your hair a mess and your nipples perking enticingly in the cold.” He grinned at her and she knew she was red all over now with embarrassment. He brushed his fingers down her nose, tracing the crooked line of it, and turned serious again. “I would never ask you to betray your vows. I am only asking that you let me by your side as you fulfill them.” 

She blinked hard against the rush of feeling in her heart. Suddenly there was a tentative knock on the door. 

“Uh, ser?” Podrick called. “Sers? Are you in there?”

“We are,” Jaime called out, and Brienne groaned a little. 

“King Bran has requested leaving the Keep today and I thought, uh, the Commander might want to attend him during it. If, if she's, uh, in there.”

“Oh for gods' sake, Pod, I'm here,” she said, ignoring Jaime's smirk. “I will meet you in the King's rooms in an hour.”

“Very good, ser,” he said, sounding relieved. “Oh and, uh, congratulations?” 

“Thank you!” Jaime called out, still smirking. She smacked his chest but found she was smiling, too. 

“My responsibilities to the king will have to take precedence,” she told him, sliding out of Jaime's bed to relieve herself and get dressed. 

“I don't mind. You look very arousing in the armor.” 

She laughed and let him tug her back to the bed for another kiss. When she eventually made it to Bran's room as the hour struck, she was armed and armored, but her hair was a mess and she could barely stop smiling.

**********

For the next week they kept at each other's side whenever Brienne was not doing her duties or Jaime his. They ate supper with Podrick almost every night, and Brienne would sometimes watch Jaime spar with the younger man, would sometimes take up a sword against Jaime herself. Their nights together after sparring sessions were especially enthusiastic ones, Jaime discovered.

When Tyrion returned from his journey, he found Jaime leaning against a wall, staring at Brienne as she ran the guard through drills. 

“Still pining?' his brother asked in lieu of a greeting. 

“No,” Jaime said, smiling a little. Brienne ordered the men to break and she turned to Jaime already beaming, composing herself when she saw Tyrion, too. 

“Oh,” Tyrion said, “I see.” Jaime looked down at him, and saw Tyrion's shocked smile. “I'm happy for you,” Tyrion said, squeezing Jaime's arm warmly. “Truly.”

“Thank you for making it possible.” 

“And I didn't even have to clean up too much of your blood.” 

Brienne had approached them by now, and she nodded at Tyrion. “Lord Hand. Your trip was fruitful, I hope?”

“Indeed, we'll have much to discuss at the next small council meeting. It appears I was not the only one who successfully mended relationships.” Jaime hid a smile at Brienne's predictably reddened cheeks. “If my brother is an ass again, do let me know and I'll ask Bronn to deal with him appropriately.” 

“I can deal with him myself, my lord, but thank you,” Brienne said, and when she glanced over at Jaime with fierce, bright eyes he had to fold his arms across his chest to keep from doing something inappropriate. 

“Mm, yes, well,” Tyrion said, coughing a little. “Enjoy.” He hurried away and Jaime turned to her, lifting an eyebrow. 

“I think you've shocked my little brother,” he said, smiling. “I wasn't sure that was even possible.”

“I look forward to more opportunities in the future.” 

“Isn't it improper for the Lady Commander to torment the King's Hand?”

“He won't be the Hand forever,” she said in that devastatingly polite delivery she had. But the reality of the other half of that sentence – that the same would not be true for her – seemed to weigh her down and though she smiled before returning to her drills, the light of it had dimmed a little. Jaime watched her go and felt the beginning of an idea take seed.

**********

That night they lay in bed, curled towards each other. Brienne's eyes were half-closed, her sweat-slick hair in thick clumps against her forehead. She smiled sweetly at him and he felt his heart stutter, too full of love for her to beat as it should. He wanted moments like this more than he wanted anything else for the rest of his life, but he couldn't trust himself to say it so he traced his finger down her arm, watched her pale skin shiver.

“What?” she said, awakening under his stare. 

“Just admiring you.” 

She flushed and looked away, but he saw the corner of her mouth lift. “You don't have to say that,” she said quietly. 

“It's the truth.” She looked like she wanted to believe him more than she actually did and he silently vowed to tell her more often, until she understood.

“With Tyrion back we'll start councils again,” she said and he knew she was trying to distract him.

“Would you like me to sit next to you? I could make them much more interesting.”

“Gods, no,” she said on a choked laugh, but he could see her imagining it by the way she bit her lip, the way she shifted a little in bed towards him. 

“The offer remains open, should you change your mind,” he whispered in her ear. 

"Jaime,” she said, his name on her lips filling him with warmth. “Do you think your brother...likes me?”

“If you and I were stuck in a burning building together he'd save you first.” She snorted. “Of course, so would I.” 

Her skin checkered red and pink in embarrassment. “Would he have liked anyone who wasn't Cersei?”

Jaime tilted his head, frowning at her. “No. Tyrion never does anything unless he absolutely wants to. You'll learn that about him. We Lannisters are not great at enduring people, especially ones outside of our family.”

“Mm,” she said, neither agreeing or disagreeing with him. She would learn in time how special she genuinely was, as she met what was left of his family. He thought of hers on Tarth, as well.

“Do you think your father would like me?” he asked. 

“He would now,” she said, and Jaime laughed softly. 

“Do you think you'll tell him about me?”

“I will, though I'm not sure how just yet. But I'm not ashamed of this or of you.” 

“You won't kiss me outside of these walls,” he said without rancor. 

“It is unseemly for the Commander to do so. What will the men think?”

“Likely whatever they're thinking now. They're not slow. Well, perhaps Ser Gawen.” 

Brienne shook her head. “He's not slow, he simply has little interest in being a knight, let alone a Kingsguard. His presence is a political choice, which I detest. The least they could have done is sent us Erena to train and then become a knight like me.” 

“There are no knights like you,” Jaime said softly. He thought he could get lost in her wide and happy eyes.

“Perhaps someday there could be,” she said, looking away, and as though she'd said it aloud he knew she was thinking of a child of her own and dismissing the thought immediately. The Kingsguard would not allow it and he would not love her as deeply if she were the type to easily throw off such a solemn vow. 

Jaime kissed her forehead tenderly, and she curled more tightly towards him, shutting her eyes and sighing softly. The idea that had sprouted earlier blossomed fully and he knew now what he had to do. As soon as she was gone to her duties in the morning, he would act.


	13. Chapter 13

Jaime dressed in his finest clothes, the ones that he would wear to an official function as Master of Laws, made sure his beard was neat and his hair well-brushed. His hand was steady but he felt as though his whole body was trembling with nervousness. He looked himself over one more time in the small mirror and then took a steadying breath. 

“What's the worst that could happen, Lannister?” he said to his reflection. “He has you hanged for even suggesting it?” 

Only slightly deterred by that possible end, Jaime detoured to chat briefly with Grand Maester Tarly before heading to Bran's room. Gawen was on guard duty and he nodded at the young man as he approached. “Ser,” Jaime said. “I'm here to speak with the King, is he available?”

Ser Gawen blinked sullenly at him. “What do you want with him?”

“I wish to speak with him, as I said.”

“Is it council business?”

“Does it matter?”

Gawen shrugged. “I suppose not. He's just reading this morning, he said he was available for visitors.” 

“Did he,” Jaime murmured. Bran's penchant for always being where he was needed was both helpful and unsettling. Jaime just wished he could see into the future and know going in how this conversation would turn out. But as coming back from almost dying had not afforded him any special magic, he squared his shoulders against the unknown and entered the room. 

Bran was looking right at him as he stepped in. 

“My King,” Jaime said, bowing low. “Might I have a word?”

“You may have several.” 

Jaime hesitated, honestly not sure if Bran was joking or not until the younger man smiled. With a strained chuckle, Jaime moved closer, remaining standing. Bran did not offer the comfort of a seat. 

“How are you enjoying being my Master of Laws?”

“Though it may perhaps be dangerous to admit this, I'm quite enjoying it. It's a debt I am happy to pay.”

“Your brother says the same of being Hand.” There was an awkward silence while Jaime considered how to broach what he had come for, until Bran spoke again. “You know your question now.”

“I do.” 

“You are afraid to ask it.” 

“I am.” 

“Are you afraid of the asking or of the answer?” Bran tilted his head curiously. 

“Both, I suppose,” Jaime replied honestly. 

“You are free to ask. I will not punish you for it, though others might. The rest you will have to deal with yourself.” 

Jaime nodded, swallowed hard, and began with what he'd practiced. “Your Grace was raised to kingship in a singular way. Your small council runs with uncommon independence. You have selected the first woman knight, a person of extraordinary worth, to command your Kingsguard. I have come to believe you are a king – a man – of foresight and potential for great change and peace. But you also have...abilities I've never seen before. Though you told me you are something else you are, I think, still a man in your heart. And I know all too well what happens when a man of special ability turns sour. You said I would come to you with one more question, and I'm here to ask you: will you change the oaths of the Kingsguard to allow them to become more than just weapons and shields of the king, letting them retain their titles and their ties and be protectors of what's right for the innocent as well as a single man?”

Bran looked surprised. “You did not come to ask me to release Ser Brienne from her duties?”

“What?” Jaime frowned. “Why would I do that? She took an oath; it's her choice what to do with it. I am asking that you allow her, allow all the Kingsguard, to have those choices available to them even when they serve you, so they remember why they became knights.”

“Kingsguard are knights devoted to the king's safety. You do not think it would put my life in more danger if my Kingsguard had wives, or husbands? Children they worried about?”

“What we have now didn't help Robert. Or Joffrey.” Jaime shrugged off the weight of the names, the weight of his own failure. “Besides, you think they don't love people anyway? Making them free to embrace it allows you to select from all of the best, not just those who are most willing to make the sacrifice or who can be most easily pawned off by their families. And for the best who would do it anyway, it removes the bitter sting of the commitment.”

Bran frowned. “Joining the Kingsguard is an honor, Ser Jaime. Were you not honored to be selected?”

“I was,” Jaime said slowly. “And I was sixteen and convinced by my sister to join. Oaths did not make me any less young or desperate or in love. They did not stay my sword with the Mad King.” 

“What of the responsibilities a lord has to his lands? Would those not take precedence?”

“There are castellans for a reason. Many a lord has gone off to war and the household has gone on in his absence. And Kingsguard can still be wardens, what does it really matter if they hold titles, too? If a lord or lady cannot commit to you and the kingdom first, then they should be removed. You still select your own Kingsguard, but fathers will not push forward their lesser sons; mothers will not weep considering the loss of their ferocious daughters. Don't forget, there is precedence now.”

“The maesters.”

“Yes. The Grand Maester has already allowed it for his order and he says they are as diligent as ever, and more pleasant, too.”

“Knights do not need to be pleasant.”

“They don't,” Jaime conceded. “But do you really wish to have only those who can harden their hearts at your side?” Until Brienne, Jaime's most vivid dreams had always been the desperate screams of the men he'd stood by and watched die. But he had not been Aerys' only Kingsguard; they had all failed to do what was right. He wondered if the rest of them had gone away inside, too, or if they'd borne it with no pains to their conscience. “Their duties will be to protect you but above all what is just, and that will make you a better king, too. The king's secrets are not always good ones to keep.”

“And if they disagree with my choices even if they're just ones? If I choose someone as my Kingsguard who decides their son should be on the throne?”

“If they break their oaths for such reasons they would have broken them anyway, family or no.” Jaime smiled sadly. “I know that better than any.”

“No one should be forced to choose between their oaths and justice,” Bran said with unexpected kindness, and Jaime had to look away, overwhelmed. After a brief silence Bran continued. “Would you have asked this of me if not for the Lady Commander?”

“I wouldn't be in King's Landing at all if not for the Lady Commander,” Jaime said bluntly. “But if it had been just about her, I would have asked only for her leave.”

Bran blinked slowly at him, as though he were seeing Jaime here and somewhere far away at the same time. “The Targaryens started the Kingsguard because they were afraid. Dragons at their fingertips and still they feared assassins. We ask men to swear everything to their fearful kings and do not ask kings to swear anything to their brave men.” His gaze focused, sharp as dragonglass. “You make good points, ser. I will consider it and announce my decision at the small council today.”

Jaime nodded, relieved. “Thank you, Your Grace.” Bran waved him off and Jaime hurried to the door, but paused before opening it. “Why _did_ you think I would ask you to release Brienne from her oaths?”

Bran shook his head. “I will answer no more of your questions, Jaime Lannister.” 

Jaime nodded, somehow expecting that, and left the room, exhaling slowly when the door closed behind him again. 

Ser Gawen peered at him. “Everything good?”

“We'll know later today,” Jaime said. He patted the younger man on one armored shoulder. “But if it is, then you're welcome,” he added as he left, leaving Ser Gawen staring in confusion after him.

**********

That afternoon, Bran was already at the table, Podrick standing tall behind him, when Jaime and Brienne entered the small council room. Tyrion was staring curiously at the king, as did Davos, Bronn, and Tarly when they filtered in. Once everyone was seated, Tyrion cleared his throat.

“Welcome, Your Grace. We didn't expect you today.”

“Ser Jaime did,” Bran said calmly. Jaime felt them all turn startled eyes his way, and when he looked, Brienne was most surprised of all. 

“I take it you have made your decision, Your Grace?” Jaime said. 

“Jaime?” Brienne whispered across the table to him, her face frozen in an expression of terrified panic. He cursed himself for not warning her and held up his hand trying to look comforting. 

“It's fine,” he mouthed. She did not look convinced. He could only imagine what she was thinking, but suspected it was that he had asked to be released from his duties so he could leave King's Landing – and her again. She may never trust that he would stay by her side for the rest of his days, but he was determined to spend the rest of his days proving it to her. 

“I have,” Bran said, letting their brief exchange go unremarked. “I have decided to make a change to the Kingsguard.”

Jaime was watching Brienne still and he saw the panic swarm back over her face, saw her shoot a worried look at Pod who looked equally nervous. “Your Grace?” she said in a voice so strained and anxious Jaime wanted to leap across the table and hold her. “Have you a problem with your Kingsguard?”

“No,” Bran said. “You have been, as someone suggested to me, extraordinary. Lord Tyrion tells me your men and the men of the city guard are the best trained and most respectful he has ever seen them. The change I wish to make is to the institution of the Kingsguard. We have changed much already, and it is time to change more, starting here.” He pulled out a scroll tucked under his robe and set it on the table. “I have written down the new rules and requirements for the Kingsguard. They are still selected by the king and they are all still the best knights of the realm. But all Kingsguard, man or woman, will retain their titles and lands and are free to marry and have children if they so choose, as long as it does not interfere with their duties.” 

The men around the table gasped but Jaime kept his gaze on Brienne; he watched her eyes, brighter and more precious than any jewel, swirl through a storm of emotions, her mouth slowly dropping open. 

“The Kingsguard will also swear a different oath to protect both king and kingdom, starting with our current Lady Commander, if she is willing.” Bran looked at her then, too, they all did, and Jaime saw Brienne's cheeks go red with the attention. “Ser Brienne of Tarth,” Bran said. “Are you ready to take your new oaths?”

She stood up from the table, lifting her chin, her hand gripping Oathkeeper's hilt. “I am, Your Grace.”

Bran nodded and she came around the side of the table and knelt before him and Jaime remembered her kneeling in Winterfell, the way the whole world but them had disappeared from that moment until the others began clapping. His heart had cried out for everything he'd ever wanted in that instant, had moved his sword steadily even though his hand was weak with nerves. It was a privilege to watch Brienne here, to get to see her take her new Kingsguard oaths with the small tremble in her chin that was the only physical sign of everything her eyes could never hide. 

The oaths were not long. Brienne swore to serve the king and protect him from harm, same as before, but she also swore to fulfill the oaths she took as a knight and to protect the people of the six kingdoms from harm as well. Jaime felt Tyrion watching him during that part, knew his brother thought of him and Aerys. Jaime had to swallow hard and look up at the ceiling to contain himself. Brienne finished her oaths by swearing to not put her personal duties and ties before her duties to the king and the six kingdoms, but did not swear to forsake her personal ties entirely as he'd once done himself. 

“Arise, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lady Commander of my Kingsguard,” Bran finished. 

Brienne stood and inclined her head to the king before looking to Jaime with a face transformed by stunned hope. He inhaled sharply and started to move towards her when Bran spoke again. 

“Ser Jaime,” he said. “For your wise counsel, I have something for you.” 

Podrick came around from Bran's chair, smiling so wide he looked like he would burst. He unwrapped a second sword belt that Jaime hadn't noticed when he was standing behind Bran, and held it and the sword attached to it out to him. 

“Your sword,” Pod said, beaming. 

Jaime reached out unsteadily, grabbing the familiar scabbard and bringing it close to his chest. He glanced at Brienne, who looked near tears herself. 

“You should name it,” Bran said. “Whenever a knight receives a new sword of such quality, they should name it.”

“It has a name, Your Grace,” he said shakily. 

“It is not the sword it was. Unsheathe it.” 

Jaime frowned and tucked the scabbard tight under his right arm so he could pull the blade out a bit with his left. When he did, he gasped aloud. The blade was still the molten gray of Valyrian steel with the deep red sheen of before, but now in the steel there were blue ripples as well that gleamed darker than the darkest sapphires. 

“So,” Bran said, “what will you name it?”

He tore his gaze from the red and blue blade and met Brienne's eyes. “Devotion.” 

She licked her lips and he sheathed the weapon and strode to her, kissing her deeply in front of the King and his council, making her a promise. He heard Tyrion cough, Davos' put-upon sigh, Bronn laughing. Near them Podrick cheered a little and he thought he heard Tarly doing the same. But none of them mattered, all that mattered was the way Brienne melted against his lips, her hand coming up and covering his where it held Devotion against his heart.

**********

A year to the day after Jaime had come back to her in the godswood, Brienne held Jaime's hand as they walked to the White Tower. Much had happened since Bran had changed the Kingsguard, including some of the Kingsguard themselves. Gawen had eagerly decided not to retake his oath and his sister Erena had just as eagerly come to King's Landing to train to take his place. She was fast and fierce, and was learning quickly from Brienne and the other Kingsguard. Podrick was particularly attentive to her, but she ignored him at every opportunity.

The small council remained the same, though Davos talked frequently about wanting to return to his home after so many years away. They were in discussions with Yara to send an Ironborn to take his place, which Tyrion was pushing hard for to further bind the independent seafolk to Bran more tightly. Brienne suspected they might be seeing more of Yara herself, based on a letter Sansa had sent a month ago reporting that Arya had paused on the island in her travels and had still not left. 

Sansa was proving as steady and wise of a ruler as Brienne had known she would be. When they'd seen each other again at the wedding though, she'd thrown herself into Brienne's arms like the young woman she still was and hugged her hard. 

“I'm so happy for you,” Sansa had said, pulling back, eyes shining in her serene face. “You look beautiful and loved.”

Brienne had blushed and smoothed down the delicately embroidered long coat she wore. Jaime had insisted neither of them wear armor (“too much to take off on the wedding night,” he'd complained, though she'd suspected after it was truly because he was eager to dance with her and the armor would get in the way) but she had refused to wear a dress and they'd settled on perfectly tailored outfits of breeches, tunics, and coats. Hers in blue with intricate white, rose, and gold designs of their sigils joined; his in red with white, blue, and gold. They wore matching belts of lions and moons and crowns of red and white roses for their hair. 

They'd held the wedding in Tarth, and her father had been beside himself hosting both the King of the Six Kingdoms and the Queen in the North at once. Brienne had been afraid he'd fall ill before it was all over, especially with the force with which he happily cried during the ceremony when she and Jaime had exchanged cloaks, the unusual move setting off a small set of curious whispers. Brienne had managed to bite down hard enough on her lip to keep her tears from overtaking her father's until Jaime's voice cracked as he whispered, “I am hers and she is mine,” and then she and Jaime both had tears on their faces as they said the last of their vows to each other. 

Though she'd been dreading it ahead of time, Brienne let her new husband lead her out to dance and discovered his warm hand in hers was a lodestone that pulled her around and around in a dreamy haze. They danced together for most of the following celebration, continuing it into their room later that night, where there was no music but Jaime whispering “my wife” over and over as he filled her body and soul. 

After the wedding she'd kissed her father goodbye – “I will come home again” she had promised, stroking his weathered cheek – and sailed back to King's Landing, the first married Kingsguard. 

Being married to Jaime turned out to be almost exactly as it had been before, except now he became more openly adoring when they were out of their rooms. At the small council meetings he would pull out her seat for her, and no matter how hard she rolled her eyes it made her feel soft and cared for every time. 

Bronn would groan when Jaime called Brienne “my Lady Commander wife,” but her besotted husband clearly didn't care. And when she and Jaime argued a point against each other at meetings, no one dared interfere unless they wanted the combined Lannister-Tarth intensity directed their way instead. 

Brienne was busier than ever with her duties – the Kingsguard was still seven, but Bran had instituted a junior guard of another twenty-one that she was now responsible for, and from which future Kingsguard would be first considered given he expected many would not serve for life any longer, including, as he hinted kindly one day, his Lady Commander. The Houses were hesitant at first, but now she had ravens all the time asking to let a prized son or daughter join. 

Whenever she paused for a moment, hurrying between responsibilities or even sitting in the hall at night listening to Jaime, Tyrion, Podrick, and Erena making terrible japes, she would settle on the deep, peaceful sea of contentment that her heart now sailed. She had reached for what she wanted for so long, to have her arms and life full of all of it and more felt like a precious miracle that she didn't want to waste. 

As she and Jaime entered the Tower now, she had one last responsibility to the past and then they could focus on the bright, happy future ahead. 

Jaime touched the White Book with the new hand Tyrion had had made for him as a wedding present. “A hand from the Hand. Clever, aren't I?” Tyrion had laughed, embarrassed when Jaime had gaped open-mouthed at the gift at the wedding day breakfast feast. The hand _was_ clever, an impressively engineered marvel that gave Jaime a small amount of use without being so heavy. 

“The Book of Brothers,” Jaime said. 

“We don't call it that anymore.”

He smiled at her. “I'm glad it's changed.” He opened it and flipped carefully to Brienne's entry, reading it. “It's good but it isn't finished yet. And why am I in it so little?”

“Hush,” she said. “Besides, I have time to fill it further. I've brought you here for something else important you should see.” She pulled the book towards her and turned to his page. “Have you read your entry since you returned?”

He shook his head. “I was too worried about what you said about me when you thought I was dead and couldn't fight back.” 

“Jaime,” she sighed, smiling a little. “My cowardly lion.” 

“I am not cowardly,” he protested. “Just sensitive.” But he still hadn't taken the book back, so she shoved it in front of him to read. She watched him take a breath and then do as she bid, his eyes quickly scanning her firm handwriting. Because she was watching him, she saw the moment he'd read what she had most recently added, the way he blinked back tears and exhaled away a last, heavy burden. 

Jaime looked up at her, his face radiant, and she knew she would remember the way he looked in this moment – like he was the sunrise himself – for the rest of her life. “You've made some assumptions there at the end, my wife,” he said hoarsely. 

“I trust you,” she said. “And I know we will.” 

She read the most recent lines over one more time while he grasped her hand and pressed it to his lips, murmuring the vows they had taken against her skin. 

_Discovered unexpectedly alive and saved by his brother, Tyrion Lannister, and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. Made Master of Laws for and served wisely on King Bran the Broken’s small council. Married Ser Brienne of Tarth, the Evenstar and the first Lady Commander of the Kingsguard._

_Fulfilled his oaths and lived an honorable and happy life._

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it! Thank you so very, very much for all of the comments and support, especially those of you who commented more frequently (some every chapter)!! I've never done a WIP like this before, I usually just post the whole thing at once, but it was really lovely to have people riding along with me as I did my normal re-editing on the back half and the support was a real boost. Y'all are GREAT. :)


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